


Rising to the Occasion

by downdeepsouth



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 113,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downdeepsouth/pseuds/downdeepsouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vulcans struggle to rebuild, Starfleet races to fill in the gaps left by lost ships and experienced personnel, and each person on the Enterprise fights to be the best they can be in a universe filled with grief, loss, and compromise. In this installment of the New Vulcan series, everyone will Rise to the Occasion. Sequel to Tale of the Last Clans. Set before Beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Rising to the Occasion**

**Chapter 1**

 

When Spock was growing up, the Vulcan Science Academy was celebrated as the pinnacle of scientific endeavor and achievement. And well deserved, for it produced the peaceful deterrent measures used on all Vulcan Defense Force ships, as well as the foundational research behind the advanced hyperdrives that allowed Federation vessels to break past Warp 3. The institution was renowned in the Federation for its scientific achievements in nearly every discipline, a fact which had led to VSA applicants from other Federation worlds---much to the school's initial dismay. His mother had been one of the first offworlders to enter the VSA at any level, and in her first years she was both a student and a professor. By the time he was a young child attending school outside of his home and personal tutors she had become a professor and researcher, and helped the VSA adapt and open to other offworld students and researchers.

Nineteen years worth of living on Vulcan had led Spock to the assumption that, on some level, he would never again get access to the technology and resources for scientific exploration that the VSA had once offered him. When Captain Pike gave him the chance to help design the Science Deck on The Enterprise, Spock determined that he would ensure that the Starfleet personnel that served on this ship would have all the resources he once had. And after a thorough breakdown of the available space, that was exactly what the Enterprise delivered.

There were short term project labs, long term project labs, Chem labs, Bio labs, medical research labs, Physics labs, the Propulsion lab, the Astrometrics lab, the Stellar Cartography lab, the hydroponics labs that led into the crew gardens, the Robotics labs, the Animal Science labs, the language labs... so many labs that they did not all quite fit on the Science Deck itself. That said, if one traversed the long corridor that bisected the Science Deck, after walking past doors bearing the name of almost every type of science one could imagine, they would end their journey in the Science Officer's private office.

It was this office that Spock had yielded to Dr. Carol Marcus, part of the incentive package he had created to convince her to stay after the events with Khan Noonien Singh. Her credentials had indeed been excellent, but her Starfleet career up to that point had been pigeonholed into weapons research and design. Specialization was a human inclination, but to a scientist like Spock, such study in one scientific discipline to the exclusion of all others was a disservice to both the intellect and the larger community.

When she arrived, she had focused exclusively on weapons R&D. When he thought her focus had been confined for long enough, he informed her that as Science Officer, her purview included all of the Science section. Her response had been to quickly and efficiently adapt to this clarification in orders, and he found that working with her was surprisingly refreshing.

He hoped that this new encounter would come to the same satisfactory conclusion. Now Dr. Marcus had projects running in almost every scientific discipline. Spock found himself surprised at the imaginative flexibility in her work, particularly after been tracking into one specialty for so long. Perhaps this was a hallmark of human scientific thinking.

The only downside was that she was now too devoted to the Science Department's functioning. She rarely attended briefings representing the Science section---though this all by itself did not rise to the level that merited even an unofficial conversation, as it was another term she had negotiated when she signed on to the Enterprise. Spock and Dr. Marcus shared the larger title of Science Officer, which meant that Spock could represent the Science section in any briefing Dr. Marcus chose not to attend.

What did rise to the level of an unofficial conversation was her conduct on the last mission, when she had been called to consult on a landing party action. The benefit of having two Science Officers on record is that one could be on an away team while the other still worked on ship. Spock readily took on that responsibility after Dr. McCoy explained to him that being allowed to stay on ship, in a smaller, confined, more predictable work environment might benefit Dr. Marcus as she worked through her grief over the loss of her father.

He understood grief, even as a Vulcan. Perhaps especially as a Vulcan.

He had of course called ahead to schedule with her, both to give her notice and just because he would not have thought to do otherwise. On Vulcan he had grown up with the custom that no one visited another without calling before and asking if that would be appropriate. Vulcan privacy was pervasive and it was reflected in all of their customs.

So Dr. Marcus was in her office, sitting at the small table meant for in-office meetings. Her desk was a shocking mess of rolled blueprints, flimpasts, padds, and styli all between a three monitor setup that she had wired into her desk computer herself. Normally this would phase Spock, and any Vulcan, but he was more than accustomed to human controlled chaos. Even before his roommate at the Academy and nearly every other Terran student he worked closely with, there was his mother. And the example he had growing up of how a Vulcan handled human clutter was his father's. Sarek tacitly ignored Amanda's office, the front hallway, and sometimes even the entire kitchen.

Spock walked past her desk and joined her at the table. She seemed composed, and had a padd and stylus as if to keep notes.

“Thank you for finding an opening so quickly to see me, Doctor.” He nodded in her direction.

“Of course, Mr. Spock.”

“I am here to speak to you about your performance on our last away mission.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly, one of the many facial marker movements Lt. Uhura had once taught him indicated surprise. This was not what she had initially expected. She quickly recovered her composure.

“Are you referring to the classified mission on Organia?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.

It was one of the many times he found himself thinking on Lt. Uhura. If they were still together, he could comm her on the way to his quarters and she would be there. He would explain what happened and she would ask something about Dr. Marcus's tone of voice or her facial musculature. And then she would explain the Doctor's reaction.

It was thoughts like these that meant a visit to the Healer.

Every fiber in his being resented the Healer for her intrusions. And then he reminded himself to be grateful. The Healer was helping the Lieutenant to be safe. Helping him assure that safety.

He forced his thoughts back to the present moment. The silence had gone on for too long. He needed to forward the conversation.

“The Enterprise has two Science Officers. And on away missions, for the most part, I do not mind being the Science officer present. But the value of having two means there is always one on the ship, and with access to the ship's resources, should the away team need them. If circumstances warrant that I call on you, you are expected to be present and at your best.”

“ _You_ didn't call on me,” the Doctor responded suddenly, and even after did not seem to understand that her statement was somewhat unusual.

 _Think through the situation_ , he thought, hearing the Lieutenant's voice in his head. It was not as he first assumed. She was not overwhelmed trying to involve herself in every discipline. If he had called, there would have been no unexpected reaction on her part. Then what might have made her uncomfortable with the call.

 _Oh_.

The Captain made the call. On his own comm, which he often preferred on away missions to the standard issue that other personnel took. And she was the Captain's _type_ and before he offered her the position, her place here had been temporary at best. And now that the Captain was in a position of authority over every member of the crew, making sex too likely to get unethical for comfort, temporary visitors often ended up spending additional time with the Captain.

“I understand. While I can try to keep the lines of communication clear, that might not always be the case. It is the Captain's prerogative to call on any member of the crew for aid, no matter what his history with that particular person...”

“Are you implying that I must have slept with the Captain, Mr. Spock?” she asked abruptly, interrupting him and in a tone he had no trouble interpreting. Obviously the opposite was true.

Spock incorporated this new information into his reasoning through this encounter. She was the Captain's type, and at the time was here temporarily (though now her place on this ship was more permanent), and she was uncomfortable with him calling her on his comm, but she did not engage in sexual relations with him.

He straightened. Having been the Lieutenant’s partner while she spurred Kirk's advances without revealing their relationship had taken quite a toll on both their nerves. He sympathized.

“Is there something I should be reporting? Please believe me when I say I have no problem making any such report, or supporting a person in doing so.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

“No, no. It is fine. Besides, I know the men you'd be reporting this to and I don't think they would make it worth my time.” Spock did not respond to this. He knew some of the remaining Admirals too and had heard them make comments around him, or in his hearing, that assumed that he shared their unfavorable assumptions about female cadets and crewmen.

He nodded and rose. She nodded back and he left the office, the meeting terminating abruptly. He admitted to not knowing how he was supposed to behave in a situation like this, beyond supporting her right to make a report. He did not even know how the humans involved were supposed to behave, and he was not human.

He knew he had a long night of meditation ahead of him.

* * *

 

[ _How did it go?_ ]

The text was just sitting on her padd waiting for a response. Carol was back in Uhura's quarters, where she spent most of her off-duty time now. She was almost done eliminating weapons signatures from the star charts---there were a finite number of blocks of space around Vulcan and she was almost finished going through all of the charts from that day. She knew that once she was finished a domino effect would begin. After she had eliminated all of the weapons signals, Martine would finish eliminating the escape pods that could not have made it out, leaving only the ones that had a fighting chance. Then Palmers would work through the last of the viable escape pods from Martine's list and Hannity would match the last of those escape pods to Starfleet's bank of stored transmissions.

Carol had already resolved that when she was done with her part, she would volunteer (or demand, depending on Uhura's reception) to join her listening to transmissions. In truth, she was a little worried about what being done with this work meant for her. While she was busy working the rescue mission that Starfleet Command refused to continue on its own she was occupied. Every shift she left work emboldened with the sense of purpose this task gave her. When it was over she would leave work the way she had been her first few weeks here, dreading the time alone in her quarters. She'd been depressed then, the grief of the loss of her father---multiple losses, since she'd both lost her chance to speak to him alive and her ability to remember him as a good man---and the way she'd been coping with it was a bit destructive. She'd gone on a tear researching Khan and the Augments, determined that what she found would bear out that he was a bad person.

As with all history, what she found was complicated.

If she just looked at the Eugenics Wars, and especially the end, then yes, Khan Noonien Singh was a bad person. He ordered the creation of the virus that set off the Zombie Apocalypse, though it had originally been intended to set off a cascade of genetic reactions in non-modified humans that would leave everyone on the planet “augmented”. He knew the risks of its failure were high, and in many documented conversations with fellow Augments he discussed reclaiming the world should the bio-attack turn non-modified humans into enraged killing machines. And when he saw the true consequences of his gamble---including the raising of the long-dead and the turning of even the Augmented upon death, consequences he had not anticipated---he ordered that Augments seize the space program facilities in each nation that had them and flee the planet.

And while the standoff between fleeing Augments and surviving humans at the U.S Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama was often considered the turning point in the conflict that had triggered the Zombie Apocalypse, Khan himself was proof that her people's assumption that they'd captured and killed all the remaining Augments was wishful thinking at best.

But if she looked before that, hating him got more difficult. He'd been created in a genetics research facility in Jaipur, India, using mostly British and Anglo DNA, and as a child had been educated in both public schools (for social skills) and with private tutors (who could actually keep up with his intellectual progress and document his development). He wasn't one of the first Augments, but he was one of the first of the last, best batch, and was surrounded by scientists, educators, and politicians whose constant obsession was over how _advanced_ he was.

In that environment, who wouldn't go insane?

His first radical action was to free his fellow Augments from the very scientists and politicians that had created and coddled him, which he did when he was nine and his fellow Augments were between the ages of six and ten. From there he led his group to take Jaipur at the age of ten, and then everything north of the Godavari River at twelve. By the time he was fifteen, and should have been binge watching reality television and obsessing over Snapchat with his 21st century peers, he and his group had conquered India, and were using it as a base to negotiate the rest of the world.

Most of the communication from that time was done online, and while a lot of it was lost in the Eugenics Wars and the Zombie Apocalypse that followed, there was still enough for her to get a picture of his motives. He was driven by the belief that all Augments were prisoners of their creators and needed to be liberated. This drove him beyond India, and it was only as a nineteen year old in his communications with the other Augments---who had at this point set up bases of power in other parts of the globe---did he start to espouse the belief that as a superior race, they should rule.

Being objective about Khan did not help her grief, and she was grateful when Christine came to her with what sounded like a crazy plan. She knew her friend was a little over-the-top at times, and she might have brushed the whole thing off---assuming it was her friend's grief over the loss of her fiancée, since the assumption that Starfleet would not continue a viable rescue mission for its own was at that time unfathomable---if Christine hadn't already gotten Uhura to sign on somehow.

Carol was glad she'd signed on. This project had changed her, and Christine, and probably all of the rest of them too.

[ _It went weird._ ]

[ _What do you mean?_ ]

[ _Spock assumed I'd had sex with Kirk._ ]

[ _Ugh, and now you're all emo and he's moved on?? After the rumors that's what some people here thought._ ]

[ _Like it was just normal._ ]

[ _I'm sure Spock knows how often the Captain goes for women on board temporarily, or ambassadors, or assistants, or natives..._ ]

[ _Exactly._ ]

[ _How did that even come up?_ ]

[ _He reprimanded me for not being at the alert for a call from an away team.]_

[ _This was when Kirk called you?_ ]

[ _Yes_ ]

[ _OMG what did you say? You obviously left things out when you told me about it._ ]

[ _It was my tone of voice. Mr. Spock could tell I was uncomfortable, and he thought it was because I was unprepared._ ]

[ _You unprepared? LOL like that ever happens._ ]

[ _Ikr? When he understood, he offered to assist me in making a report._ ]

There were several moments of silence, and she could see her friend start and stop typing over and over. She distracted herself by clearing the chart she was working on, sending the results to Martine, and opening the next chart. She set the padd parameters, using a program she'd designed explicitly for this purpose, and started the scan.

[ _You didn't file a report. If you had you'd have called me._ ]

Say what you want about Christine, but she was perceptive. It was what made her a fantastic nurse---and now, having transferred from Enterprise to work on the Outer Frontier as a field nurse, a fantastic Doctor. Truly, it had been the best career move her friend could have made, and now she was the Federation's foremost expert on First Contact alien psychology. She knew her friend had no regrets.

[ _You didn't do anything wrong._ ]

Carol looked at the text. Her reply wasn't fast enough, and her friend was worrying.

[ _I know that. I just thought I'd want that, and when it was offered to me I realized I didn't._

[ _Moving on is a good thing, trust me._ ]

Carol let out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Some part of her was worried her friend would be mad, or even that she'd be mad at herself, but it was fine. They were fine.

“Hey! Hey hey hey!” Martine was up, calling to the others and waving her arms.

[ _brb_ ]

Carol hurriedly typed the quick squirt and jumped up. In moments she, Uhura, Palmers, and Hannity were all at the couch crowding around Martine, who’d been using the wall as a screen, sorting through the escape pods on a large projected map. The short Italian woman had a padd in her hand, and it was open to a subspace message from Ensign Pol’takko, who was working on the next layer of the rescue mission from The Maria.

The Maria was one of the first ships out of the shipyard after the Fall of Vulcan, and the group of fleet officers and crew in on this volunteer rescue mission were working the legal angle---crafting briefs to Starfleet Command requesting that specific sectors of space be searched for escape pods and survivors. They compiled all of the evidence from The Enterprise volunteers and those of other ships to make their case, and they had already submitted twenty-one briefs.

“I just got a message. The Maria folks are starting a brief on Farragut pod 591.” Carol looked over at Uhura, whose back was now ramrod straight. That was the escape pod they’d tracked Engineer Vro to over three months ago. Carol had thought the Orion might be the reason Uhura had agreed to be a part of this in the first place, and now she was sure.

“Where was the pod last seen?” Uhura asked, and Martine scrolled down her padd.

“The projections---based on the last transmission, the report of the condition of the pod, and its trajectory place it near the Akaali system,” Martine read. This was both good and bad news.

“That’s not far from the Orion Syndicate,” Uhura murmured, “They can’t stay there. How long will writing the brief take?” Martine was ready for this answer.

“They are working double shifts on this, and they’ve already submitted a preliminary briefing with a recommendation to rush a search party. They say that Command has enough to order the sector searched any time, but they…”

“…can’t be more specific.” Uhura finished the smaller woman’s sentence, and Martine’s doe eyes got even wider.

“Is there something we can do to make it more likely they’ll move on this?” Palmers jumped in, asking the question that what on everyone’s mind.

“We could start an Internal Petition.” Hannity said, though her voice sounded flat, almost resigned. She pulled up a template petition and projected it on part of the screen with the map. “And with the five of us pushing it, there isn’t anyone on the Enterprise we couldn’t convince to sign it.” Even though she was right, she was focusing on what they could control. But even with the petition, Command still might not rush, or even move at all. Even so, the others were nodding, and Uhura looked a little better with something to keep her busy working on Vro’s case.

Carol wondered if she was the only one who wasn’t completely caught up in the hopeful moment. As a weapons expert she was often surrounded by pessimists, and the moment this project left their group of volunteers and went back into the hands of Starfleet Command she lost the feeling that people were actively working on it.

“You’re thinking it too.” Uhura was next to her, and abruptly Carol was brought out of her own thoughts by the Lieutenant’s words.

“Thinking what?” she asked, all proper British innocence. The exchange had caught everyone else’s attention, and Uhura moved to her side. When she spoke again, her voice was slightly louder, a subtle signal to the others that she was talking to everyone.

“There’s an elephant in the room that I think we need to talk about. Know that it is not breaking any regulation to talk about fleet Command negatively. We can talk to each other without sowing the seeds of sedition, and no one here is suspected of anything.” Uhura looked around as she spoke, and no one seemed willing to meet her eyes. Carol drew a breath, ready to begin, before Hannity surprised her.

“I just feel like we shouldn’t have to do this. I know hard choices have to be made, but these are Starfleet crewmen lost in the line of duty.” Uhura moved over to the replicator and dialed a pot of tea. Carol pushed her hip up onto the small work table and got comfortable.

It was going to be a long night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Dagger of the Mind**

Spock mentally walked himself through the instructions the Nomad had helpfully provided him and began piecing the game system together. A week earlier he was contacted, a message embedded in a cache of messages and digital materials that comprised what the humans called a “care package data dump”. These data dumps happened once a month, and usually consisted of letters, video messages, replicator recipes, texts, movies, and very rarely physical items. The last time he had received such a message was before he lost his mother, and for a moment after hearing his name called in the mail roster he was stilled.

Now he replicated the plastic game system, assembled the parts, and turned it on. The console broadcast a subspace signal and he moved to the workstation in his quarters. He pulled up his ship profile and put in a comm's request, attaching a thread that would lead the crewman assigned this task to the console's subspace signal.

He nodded as his console screen went from blue to a series of dots, showing that it had caught a connection to a comm's signal outside of the ship's internal communications network. His request had been filled in 89.586 seconds, an exceptionally efficient time for the Communications Department during ship's night. He made a note to send the Lieutenant a message commending her section's speed.

Then the screen changed, and he was looking at an empty black chair, wide enough for two people his size to sit comfortably, and currently serving as a bed for a black litka. The small animal looked just like one he might have encountered on a hike on the Forge. After a few moments it seemed to sense he was there, waking up with a jerk of its head and looking at the screen. Then the litka trilled, curious, and moved up to smell the screen and paw at him.

The small paw looked giant as it touched the screen, and Spock was reminded of Alice, growing so tall she could not see her own feet and even the ceiling of the room was too short for her stretched stature.

His clearly frivolous and illogical musings were all to the sounds of loud, repeated, plaintive cries from the litka, who was suddenly picked up and moved.

“Bad monster! You know you don't stand on the keys!” Nekae, in shorts, a white shirt with gray dashes laid out in a fractal pattern, and a green hoodie landed in the black chair. From that distance she took on normal proportions, and the projected image looked much like a video chat any Enterprise crew member might be having with a family member or friend.

“Hello Bondmate. So you got my message. The plans weren't too hard for you?” She was casual, her surroundings matching the images from the space whale uterus the Bridge crew had seen at the first contact that was now 31 days ago.

“They were not,” he confirmed with a nod.

“Void. Lemme get my stuff!” she said and was up and out of the frame again. Spock had begun a list of words and phrases Nekae used that combined Ancient Vulcan vocabulary in what was clearly Modern Nomad slang. _Void_ was used as a human would say _cool_ or _awesome_. _Clipping_ someone was obviously a threat. _Empty_ could mean what humans mean when they say that things are _fine_ , though it was possible he was still incorrect in that interpretation.

Then she was back in the screen, settling down on the black chair with a small, handheld device and a bowl of food with a spoon-like utensil. She put the small, black device to her lips and breathed in, held it, and breathed out.

_He walked into his brother's bedroom. He did not have to ask if he could enter without signaling first---he had been assured of this seventeen times. His brother had something to his lips, an object the length of a finger with a bowl on one end that obviously had something burning inside it. He breathed in, held his breath, and breathed out._

“You are using substances for the purpose of achieving altered consciousness.” She looked up at him in response, her demeanor indicating that she was curious.

“You don't like this?” she asked, though without any significant emotion. The tone of her voice was light, and her face betrayed no significant negative emotion.

“I do not have an opinion on the matter.” His head rose and he looked away. His emotional reaction was illogical, a reaction to an unexpected stimulus. She was not Vulcan, and after teaching Interspecies Ethics for more than six years to Starfleet cadets he knew his own personal philosophy in this regard would not allow him to judge her for a practice simply because it was unacceptable by Vulcan standards.

“Okay...” she let the word draw out for a moment and then changed the subject. “You got the plans for the controller too, right?”

At that, he retrieved the handheld device he had constructed and held it up.

“Yes! Alright...” she picked up a similar _controller_ and pushed a few buttons. The video screen with her image was then bordered on all sides with a thick black square and the square shrunk and repositioned itself to the top of the screen. The majority of the screen brought up the run screen of what looked like a video game.

For a moment he was transported back to his days as a cadet, when he would walk out of his bedroom to find his roommates in the suite on the common couch, eating large bowls of cereal and gaming.

“Okay, here's how it works. We'll build you a character. You have six to choose from. You can be a Beacon, a Machinist, a Navigator, a Bridge, a Disciple, or a Bruiser.” Now the screen with her was in the upper right hand corner and the game screen filled his viewer. There were a group of characters, and as she spoke she used her controller to highlight each one. “Each of these characters is based on an archetype reflected in Nomad communities. Nomads define themselves with these archetypes and that makes it easier to interact.”

“How so?” If these game characters were roles that Nomads played---jobs or identities or something in between---then playing could serve as a productive intelligence gathering strategy.

“Well Nomads are... you know... nomadic. We're loners. We have families, but most people either live with their mate, or a few family members, or alone and when you meet another Nomad that could be weird if there wasn't like an easy way for you to figure out who they were, what they were like, etc. These roles give me info I can use to figure out what a person might be like, or like, or not like when meeting them.”

Spock was fascinated.

“The Beacon is the telepath of the group. Most Nomads aren't telepaths, and in a group the Beacon managers the bonds that connect the members. This character would facilitate communication, defend against other telepaths, facilitate the rapid-but-temporary transfer of skills, and even manage very brief _kadrak_ transfers.”

He controlled a reaction to the use of the Ancient Golic form of _katra_ , a Vulcan term that denoted the spirit and consciousness of a Vulcan individual. The idea that any Nomad had these abilities, which for his people would be extraordinary and expected only in an Acolyte of Gol, was concerning, based on the very real possibility (48.69862%) that the relations between the Federation and the Nomads might break down and lead to hostilities. He looked up sharply when she let out a short laugh.

“Yeah, they're scary. You probably want to learn all you can about them, and playing that character is the best way to do that.”

Her words chilled him, as they spoke to the very heart of his concern. The idea that she would be sharing so much information about her people with him was disconcerting, as it did not seem very strategically sound. She stated again and again in his presence that his people were her enemies.

“What?”

She was peering into her screen now, as if studying his face. He needed to keep in mind that she was not a member of the Enterprise's crew, who might not even know a Vulcan other than him. She interacted with individuals were biologically-similar to him every day, and this would make her more facile at reading his body language and facial expressions. Being nomadic would add to that facility, if only for necessities sake.

“It seems... unwise that you would reveal so much about your people to me.” His father had often modeled how revealing true motivations could be used to forward negotiations.

“Ah! Yeah, that's definitely part of how we are different. You all think that privacy is _so_ important.”

“And you do not?”

Privacy was a cornerstone of Surak's philosophy, the privilege Vulcans gave one another that helped individuals better control their emotions. What happens in the family stays in the family. What happens between bondmates is sacrosanct, not to be publicly discussed. And meditation was a completely private, personal affair.

“Nope. We know privacy is a myth.” Nekae spoke so casually, and watching someone with Vulcan-like facial features say something so heretical in an ancient version of his own language was disconcerting.

“A myth?”

“Obviously! I mean, you're on camera now, right? I bet your entire ship is monitored with feeds for _security_ purposes.”

“That is true...” he began, gearing up to explain the protocols for Security staff that kept even these feeds private.

“And this is true on every space station and Federation world you visit. And all of your online activity and comms activity is monitored.”

“That is also true, however...”

“And when you are on a planet where such monitoring doesn't exist, you are inevitably in the company of other people in your Starfleet who would report on your activities if questioned by supervisors?”

“Yes, but-” He was getting annoyed by the interruption, a trait Nekae exhibited that a Vulcan woman never would.

“And, if necessary, there are still telepaths still employed by your own people who will violate mental barriers for _national security_ , are there not?”

And all at once, a conversation which should have yielded him intelligence hit a wall where he was left open to reveal private information about his own people's defenses instead. It was shocking how quickly the Nomad could turn the tables in their conversations.

“Thought so.” She then shrugged, as if all of this were completely obvious and normal information. “Like I said, privacy is a myth. Didn't you wonder why it was so easy for your Comms woman to hack into our feeds?”

He had to admit that he had not. Lt. Uhura's skill set was impressive, and he had not questioned it.

“I Love It!” She sang these words, revealing a new behavior that jarred his control, even as he got used to her bizarre use of language and exaggerated mannerisms. “I bet she's someone to meet. Anyway, since you probably have highly trained Starfleet officers going through Nomad personal pages right now looking for patterns, this isn't amazingly personal information that I'm revealing to you. All I'm doing is saving you the trouble of having to deal with whatever weird names they come up with to describe these personality types. You should let them know. Write a paper or something.”

As she had accurately predicted exactly what the Enterprise crew were doing and what he intended to do with the information he gathered from their games, he felt no reason not to agree.

“Good. So, what kind of character do you want to make?”

* * *

  _[Please commend the officer on duty and note the efficiency tag for this week's performance. 89.6 seconds is an impressive connection time for personnel requests.]_

Lt. Uhura read the note from Commander Spock and smiled. Her department was on it, and in the middle of the night too.

Truthfully, the parts of her job that required her to manage the seventy-four crewwomen and men in the Communications section were the most daunting for her. She had trained as a new staff member in Communications, only to be field promoted on her first mission to Bridge Officer and formally promoted to Communications Chief at the end of her first mission.

It was the first time in her life she'd regretted an award.

The few weeks of downtime they got after that first mission, after running the gamut of briefings and trainings, were spent in furious preparation. She met with Commander Breilani, the only surviving Communications Chief, now detailed to Starfleet Academy to teach. And she'd poured over everything from schedule templates to First Contact webinars, all in the hopes that she could somehow train herself to take over her new responsibilities with some level of confidence.

In their quarters, Spock watched this behavior in between his own briefings and a short stint teaching an intensive Interspecies Ethics course for a group of cadets that were being fast-tracked out into space. He channeled any anxiety he might have felt at her frenzied studying and drilling into making sure she had all of the food, water, tea, and clean clothes she could ask for, moving around her with a ninja's discretion.

None of it made up for Gaila's absence. She would have traded her Vulcan ghost mother for a meddling, distracting, completely chaotic Orion in a heartbeat.

Now these little boosts were better than a cup of real, non-replicated coffee. Her hard work had paid off, and at this point in her short career she felt like she'd hit her stride. It was an insane job, the hardest duty she'd ever dreamed of drawing, but she was phenomenal at it.

Her board lit up and she honed in on a signal that pulled at her already tense shoulders. It was from Tantalus, a Federation penal colony that housed the curable but intensely sick criminals of the Federation, all individuals with profound mental illness.

And the call Enterprise was receiving wasn't from a staff member.

“ _Call from an inmate at the Tantalus Penal Colony. Do you accept the charges?”_

She signaled an accept with one hand while typing a quick note to the Command Team with the other. She knew they would be making their way to the Bridge, but even that didn't soften her shock at the face that came on her screen.

Khan Noonien Signh

She had forgotten that Khan was at Tantalus. Technically he was not yet formally a prisoner there. Starfleet was testing out the facility as a cage for him and the rest of the Augments, primarily as a response to pressure from Sentient Rights' groups. They were testing out whether his anarchist, narcissistic personality traits were curable with long term therapy and medication---and by extension whether or not the other Augments would be as well.

The fact that they were still holding seventy-two people in stasis was against Federation law, and teams of Sentient Rights' lawyers were fighting for their awakening. This housing of Khan at Tantalus was meant to be a security precaution and test run in preparation for that larger goal. And there were plenty of Starfleet Admirals rooting for the colony to fail, so they could justify putting them to death.

It was one thing lately that she and the higher ups could agree on: that Khan needed to die.

“What is the meaning of this call, Inmate?”

As she addressed him, she heard the turbolift open and felt the Captain and Mr. Spock walk past her. She muted the line.

“Khan is calling us from Tantalus Colony.”

“What the devil can he want?!” McCoy, who had already been on the Bridge watching a couple of new Engineering techs get trained on the Bridge controls, was the first to bluster in response. The three of them huddled together for a few moments as Khan replied in her ear.

“ _I need to speak to Captain Kirk, immediately.”_

“He wants to speak to you, Sir,” she said, spinning to meet Kirk's eyes. He nodded slowly.

“On screen.” She cued Khan's face on the main viewers and felt the emotional tone of the Bridge change.

“What do you want, Khan?” The Captain was both straightforward and calm, and she watched as Spock took position at his right side.

“ _Dr. Tristan Adams is using the penal colony prisoners as guinea pigs for a series of experiments with a device called the Neural Neutralizer. Have you heard of it, Captain?”_

“If you have a complaint, file it through the penal colony's channels. There's more than one doctor on the colony.”

“ _Is there?”_ At that, the call cut out.

“This is obviously a trap, Captain,” Spock spoke first, already at his side.

“I agree. There's a Dr. Van Gelder over there who I took a subspace seminar from a few years back. I can't imagine he'd condone neural experimentation on prisoners.” McCoy came in on his other side. Kirk was nodding.

“Just to be safe, let's get a briefing together. In two hours, I want us all to be experts on Tantalus.

* * *

“That's a ridiculous question.”

Spock watched her in the top right corner of the screen, the video chat screen smaller as they played through the adventure game that served as a training simulator and social networking space for the Nomads.

He had chosen to play a Beacon, precisely for the reasons she had earlier inferred, and she a Navigator. And though she made it clear to him that Navigator was not the role she took in her own family, the character seemed to suit her well.

The Navigator was a social lubricator, keeping a wide list of contacts, business connections, and personal friends in all corners of the galaxy. Her role was to balance the more socially introverted Beacon by knowing people that made their ability to achieve game goals easier.

To Spock, this seemed like a very fitting role for her to play, as that was the function she had served for them on Organia.

“How is it ridiculous? Clearly I do not know the answer, and surely it is not confidential...” he replied, using wordplay to remind her of their time on the planet as he had just been reminded. She smirked.

“I'm worried that if I answer you, it'll upset your delicate aristocratic sensibilities.”

“I am prepared.” She laughed outright at this, though strangely enough she did not correct his frivolity or question his humor. While she constantly questioned him about lying, deception, or violence, humor did not seem to come off as strange to her.

“I eat them.” He paused then, mind pulled into a memory.

_His parents were away, on a diplomatic assignment. This was one of the first times they had chosen to travel without him, and his brother was in charge in their absence. Spock was relieved, because he knew his older sibling would not make any unexpected demands of him. He was also ahead in his studies, and had already allotted the hours until their parents returned between the piano, the lyre, and care of his mother's rose and tomato plants._

_It was in this pursuit that Spock entered the kitchen, arms full with a basket of tomatoes ready for washing, blanching, and slow cooking into a kind of human-vulcan hybrid dyrk yon-savas. He was composing a song on piano to welcome his parents home with as he walked into the kitchen, and did not realize there were people at the small table they often ate at as a family until he heard one of them react to his presence._

“ _Is it proper that he be here?”_

_And then his brother answered, “Of course. Spock values privacy.” That was their cue that one or the other might be doing something questionable. Spock focused narrowly on the counter and the tools he would need to accomplish his task. If his parents asked, he saw nothing amiss._

_There was an odor, though, one he had never before smelled. It was savory, but odd to his nose, and he was unsure if he would categorize it as pleasant._

“ _This is not an incorrect action, so there is no lack of propriety in any case,” another voice responded, female and belonging to a Vulcan girl of his brother's acquaintance._

“ _Indeed not,” Sybok said, “as they would otherwise have gone to waste. Without the mother they would have perished. With us their death serves new life.”_

_It was only later, on a trip with his family to Earth, that he would learn the smell of eggs is universal, almost irregardless of the creature producing them._

“You eat the eggs?” He could not help the feeling that rose from his stomach to his throat.

“Oh, lemme guess, that's not something followers of Surak do?” He shook his head.

“Are you judging me right now?” Her rejoinder quoted him, also from their time on Organia.

“No. You are not of Vulcan. You may follow whatever customs you like in regards to your culinary habits.”

“Okay okay hold up. I don't even think my eating her eggs is a violation of Surak's tenets. And since we are in the middle of a cultural exchange, it is about time you offered up some insight into the ethics of your people. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He was much more comfortable with their interaction as it got more balanced.

“Good. So, I live inside a space whale. In the uterus, which is warm and wet and full of microorganisms that eat metallic rust, so the frame of the ship around me will last much longer than it otherwise would. That's a pretty void deal, right?”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Of course it is!” She took another drag off her dark handheld pipe and then continued. “But it isn't free. I mean, it is if I wanted to be a parasite, but what honor is there in that?”

“It would seem dishonorable...” he ventured.

“Exactly. So I offer to do something for her in return. And since she has a rider---that's another person living inside her, like me, but not like me like I'm like you, and in the brain---I have a way to communicate with her. So I ask the rider what she wants, and he tells me. And in this case, what she wants is to not get pregnant anytime soon.”

“You act as her contraceptive?”

“Yes! So yeah, I'm eating eggs, but I'm doing it _for her_. And in doing so I'm less of a parasite and more of a symbiote. Is that really against Surak's tenets?” He contemplated her question, chains of logic unfurling for each possible choice and argument.

“No, so long as it is not enjoyed.” This response prompted more laughter.

While a part of his brain graphed her response alongside her prior ones in the matrix he was using to attempt to successfully predict future responses as he learned to read her, another was preoccupied.

“What?” How did she always know when he was preoccupied.

“I am contemplating the differences in our lives, and how difficult other Vulcans would find even imagining life as you live it.”

That stopped the laughter completely, and he looked up. Not satisfied with the smaller video window, he toggled the screen so the Nomad's face was large and centered and the game was in the upper right corner.

“I have said something amiss?” He kept his voice light, but he was starting to be concerned about the serious expression her face had taken.

“I was just thinking about my ancestor, T'Zenia. You know, sometimes you wonder about something you think is normal, like, 'That must have been crazy the first time someone tried it, right?' And T'Zenia was born in the desert before having to flee to space. As weird as you think this is, she must have been desperate to even attempt it.”

They both sat in a silence Spock was unequipped to break as the Enterprise cut through space towards Tantalus.

* * *

  _Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please review, follow, and favorite!_

 


	3. Dagger of the Mind, Part 2

Scotty bristled as yet another blue shirt crammed into the Transporter Room. There were six transporter pads, and technically they could beam down six people at a time but Mr. Scott just thought that large of a landing party was gratuitous. They had six people from Science alone where two should do. Another example of how specialization was the enemy of a real scientist. 

Scotty himself was a Renaissance Man, an expert on all of the systems required to run the Enterprise. A physicist, a mechanical engineer, a propulsion's expert, a weapon's specialist, a computer programmer, a data systems analyst, and a transporter theorist. He could man every station on this ship save the Sickbay systems---though he could fix them in a snap and probably run them if he had to---and sometimes the tiny boxes Starfleet put its scientists into frustrated him. 

Scotty watched as Dr. McCoy weaved through the crowd, headed for him at the transporter controls. 

“Quite a party you've got here, Mr. Scott.”

“This inna my party. Who needs twelve specialists to flip a light switch?”

“Now now, they're doing something a bit more complicated than that. Playing detective and diplomat on a penal colony that isn't used to visitors is no small feat. Tantalus is using mental and emotional health technology and pharmacology that Earth won't see for five years. Figuring out whether or not the tech is too coercive to be beneficial will be a challenge.”

“All I'm sayin' is this: In my day the Academy required us to learn a bit of everything. Now they're training up starship positions and throwing these young 'ens out here raw. An inna fight no one needs a Weapons Operator Analyst. They need someone who understands how these weapons work, an' how they work with the ship.” McCoy was nodding and he knew the good Doctor was having some trouble with the new medical recruits as well. 

Enterprise had become half exploratory vessel/half mobile classroom and experienced personnel were being slowly rotated off the ship to other ships in the fleet as new recruits were signed on, with the understanding that Enterprise staff would provide “on the job” training. Keeping experienced Lieutenants and Lieutenant Commanders was becoming a fight for each individual crewman, and he knew Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk had both started aggressively recruiting the Starfleet personnel assigned to the Outer Rim. 

As one of those troublemakers, he appreciated the draining of the disciplinary dumping grounds some of those distant waystations had become. Officers had gotten a reputation for shoving cadets and ensigns who made waves out to one-to-two man assignments, but now those same officers had to admit that everyone was needed for fleet duty. 

Then the door opened to let yet another blue shirt in and the Doctor's nodded to pull Scott's attention to it.

“I think this might be just the prescription for what ails you,” McCoy said as they watched Dr. Marcus move through the crowd, relieving crewmen. 

Mr. Scott nodded appreciatively. When Marcus had first come on board Mr. Scott had many of these same concerns about her. Her career had obviously been pigeonholed into Weapons Research, due no doubt to some heavy-handedness on the late Admiral's part, and she showed every intention of hiding in the Weapons Labs on Enterprise. 

Then one night during a repair that took over eleven hours, he let it slip to Mr. Spock that he thought such specialization in a crewman of such high rank was improper. It truly hadn't been a planned slip; but being crammed in a gravity-defying position in a Jeffries tube with a Vulcan on the comm as your only company was a perfect recipe for lowered inhibitions. He expected the silence over their commlink that was Spock's way of demonstrating disapproval, but instead was surprised when Spock agreed. 

A week later Marcus requested weekly meetings with him to get up to speed on the subsections, projects, and labs Science and Engineering shared. 

“Aye,” Scott said, nodding, as a horde of assembled crew drained out of the Transporter Room, leaving just Historian MiGivers, Dr. Marcus, Security Specialists Dirk and Mahoney, and then the good Doctor and himself. 

Kirk broke in, gave his over-exuberant greetings to Scott and McCoy, and then moved himself into the middle of the group as Marcus began to brief the away team. Behind them, some techs moved in and out loading the transporter pads with large boxes and cylinders. 

“Tantalus Colony is a penal rehabilitation colony for the criminally insane. The individuals incarcerated here all have traumatic past incidents that have warped their minds and personalities to the point where they cannot be housed with other prisoners or in facilities dedicated solely to mental health. Each of these prisoners is a highly-motivated, intelligent, effective criminal who has already done substantial harm to the Federation.” 

Scott glanced to his side at McCoy, who was obviously here for more than a friendly visit with the Chief Engineer. He was watching Dr. Marcus, probably assessing whether it was a good idea for her to beam down to the prison that currently held her father's killer. 

“U.S.S. Enterprise to Tantalus Colony,” Scott said softly, bending down over the console to begin the cargo transfer while Marcus continued the briefing. 

“Tantalus has two Medical Directors: Dr. Tristan Adams and Dr. Simon Van Gelder. Twenty-one hours ago Enterprise received a call from Inmate Khan Noonien Singh claiming that Dr. Adams was inappropriately using medical technology to violate the minds of his patients. Specifically the inmate referenced a device called the Neural Neutralizer.”

“Rehab Colony. Come in.”

“Requesting an opening in yer force field for beaming down of cargo.”

As quiet as he was being, Scotty could tell his work on the cargo transfer was pulling attention away from Dr. Marcus.

“You might be wondering why we are transferring cargo,” the Doctor addressed her distraction head on and MiGivers nodded. “We have not formally been invited, and if it is true that Dr. Adams is conducting unethical experiments, we need to take steps to prevent him from hiding or destroying any evidence. Our Security Chief came up with the idea of bringing some much-needed supplies as a way to ingratiate ourselves without looking suspicious.”

“It is customary for the Captain of a ship to be invited to tour a colony during resupply runs like these,” Kirk chimed in, “and we're hoping to use that normal interaction to validate or disprove Khan's accusation.”

“Enterprise, affirmative. Our security cover is now open.”

“Beaming now.” Scott watched as the cargo beam out went smoothly, and then saw a message from the colony with a return manifest. The colony technician wanted to beam up some research material whose final destination was the Central Bureau of Penology at Stockholm. 

“What would you say Khan's frame of mind is, Historian?” Kirk asked, and all eyes fell on Specialist Marla MiGivers.

MiGivers was a rare sight in the Transporter Room, but unlike Marcus she was also a rare sight everywhere else on the ship too. While Dr. Marcus moved from station to station below decks monitoring science experiments, conducting crew evaluations, and managing Science facility maintenance, MiGivers tended to work in her quarters. 

“Uh, yes Sir. As Dr. Marcus stated, the inmates here all have traumatic past incidents that have warped their personalities, and Khan is no exception. He was created in a lab and born in captivity in a batch of genetically augmented individuals at a period in Earth history when human genetic treatments were at the edge of legality, but people whose entire genetic code was created through that process were not considered citizens.” As she spoke, Mr. Scott continued the cargo transfer.

“Cargo received. Manifest confirmed. Preparing to beam cargo to Enterprise bound for CBP Stockholm Terra.”

“Acknowledged. Ready for beam up.”

“At nine years old, “ MiGivers continued, “Khan broke out of the secure medical facility where he and his fellow Augments lived in captivity by exploiting the daily access they were given to public school. This action set the foundation for all the decisions that would follow it, and it bound him to his genetically augmented peers in a way stronger than most conventional friendships and familial relationships.” At this, Dr. Marcus broke in, literally stepping forward as she spoke. 

“This initial escape included the killing of three adults, all between the ages of thirty and forty five. As a child, Khan was willing and able to put his well-being before the lives of others---”

“---who were his captors.” MiGivers shot back, her feathers clearly ruffled. “While we all have reasons why we feel the way we feel about Khan now, it is important to keep history in its proper context.” 

As the transporter whined behind them, Marcus stared MiGivers down in controlled outrage. Scotty looked from them to McCoy and noted how the Doctor was riveted to their interaction. After a few moments, Marcus just nodded and MiGivers continued. 

“This first action created an unbreakable bond between Khan and his fellow Augments, who grew up to be the generals and lieutenants in his Augment army and are now the seventy-two individuals asleep in cryo storage containers on Tantalus. It is highly likely Khan will go to extreme measures to free himself and them. It is equally unlikely that he will leave them behind without a clear plan to retrieve them.”

The research material Tantalus had beamed aboard was an oversized lockbox with biohazard warnings plastered all over it. 

“Transporter Room to Sickbay. We're gonna need some techs to transport this cargo to secure medical storage.”

“Acknowledged.”

Scotty nodded, checking this task off his endless to-do list (or as the Engineering crew called it, his “honey-do list”) as Kirk broke in between the two women. 

“When we beam onto Tantalus we're going to split up into two groups. MiGivers, you'll go with Mahoney to interview Khan. Carol, you and I will go with Dirk on the tour.” As the away team moved to the transporter pads, Scotty came from behind the controls and assigned tricorders and communicators. 

“Good luck, Captain,” the Chief Engineer said, a stickler for tradition. No one was sent off the ship without a goodbye. 

“Always. Prepare for beam down.”

The meeting rooms onboard the Tantalus penal colony were of a design MiGivers was completely unaccustomed to, and it took her a few moments to get oriented. Behind her Mahoney stood inside the doorway, watching the inmate Khan on the other side of the room. 

The entire room was a white box, with two chairs and a table that was neatly bisected in the middle. It took Marla a moment to realize that the space between her side of the table and his was where the force field separated the room in two. 

That didn't mitigate the feeling that she was alone in a room with Khan Noonien Singh. 

She'd studied the Augments as a child in History class, and looking back on her experience, it is obvious that the lack of records from that period skewed how children interpreted that part of history. 

When they got to that section of the course, nearly all of the scanned in source material was from the Augments. All of the news stories, social media posts, phone calls, and emails from every day people were lost as zombies wreaked havoc in every city, town, and village on Earth. The Augments had set up a secondary, private communications system designed to connect them in case the bio-attack was unsuccessful. At the time they assumed that a failure would turn unaugmented humans into enraged berserker killing machines. Instead, it rose the dead and kicked off a Zombie Apocalypse. 

The effect of only having the Augments' point of view was that it made the natural response of the learner more sympathetic. In high school everyone in her History of the Apocalypse class had to read ten Augment diaries. She read them all, and the fanfic, and even had a feed for her favorite ships. 

Looking at him in real life she was struck by how regal he looked. His posture, bearing, intense attention, high cheekbones... they were all enough to be thoroughly distracting. 

Focus, this is real life, not fanfiction.

She sat down in the chair and so did he. 

“You are from the Enterprise. I do not remember you from my time there.” Khan's stare was intense, and she felt her own breath catch. 

“I came on board after all that. I'm Specialist MiGivers, Ship's Historian.”

“The Ship's Historian position is usually a Lieutenant. Rarely an Ensign. Specialist is not a designation typically used by the Sociological section of Starfleet.”

His response to her was immediate, so fast it put her off, shook her confidence. 

“You made a call on Stardate 3134.8 to the Enterprise stating that Dr. Adams was experimenting on inmates. Do you remember that?”

“What kind of question is 'do you remember'? I have an eidetic memory and, even if I did not, that is hardly something I would forget.”

She took a quick breath. Glancing down, she looked away as if taken off guard, and surreptitiously took a look at her padd. The sound was off and it was tipped so that she could see it but he could not. On it her heart rate, heartbeat, breathing, and other physical reactions were recorded and graphed. 

It was one of the features of Tantalus's high tech meeting rooms. The room was equipped with cameras and sensors. Outside the tech had showed her how to link her padd into the interface and now she used it, but not in the traditional sense. 

Instead of watching his physical reactions, she watched her own. Khan thought very little of the average human---any selection of his blog, emails, or tweets make that clear. He only had time with unaugmented humans as a child attending school with other children. By the time he was an adolescent, he was surrounded by other Augments, and after that he only interacted with humans who were under intense stress (which made sense if you considered how stressful being face-to-face with the Khan Noonien Singh was). 

She was betting she could fool him. 

“Sorry...” she said, and she didn't have to fake the tremor in her own voice. She was sitting across from one of her world's most ruthless despots---only a fool wouldn't be terrified. “I'm here to take a longer statement from you.”

When she looked up Khan was examining her face, looking at her intently. It made her skin crawl, and she knew her fear and anxiety were obvious. Then his face changed, his features softening. 

“Of course. I want your help. That is why I called.” 

Then, without any further prodding, he told her everything he knew about Dr. Adams and the Neural Neutralizer. 

Dr. Marcus hung back, letting the Captain and Dr. Adams take the lead. So far they'd been toured through a patient suite, a therapy cubicle, and were now moving through the inmate recreation area. 

Dr. Adams had already mentioned the penal colony's other doctor, Van Gelder, several times. Crediting his colleague with several of the colony's patient care adaptations, he seemed perfectly at ease with the Enterprise crew and their unplanned visit. 

But Dr. Van Gelder was nowhere in sight to speak for himself. 

Carol looked around, wondering if they were going to get to the labs next. Mr. Spock had the Enterprise labs designed to his personal specifications and after she'd been politely and sternly pushed to explore them she had to admit they were surprisingly well-equipped. The ship had labs for every type of scientific inquiry imaginable, all filled with devices specific to each discipline. The learning curve to become facile and comfortable with them all had been steep and she was confident she could now look at an empty lab and deduce something of substance from its layout and stock. 

And if Dr. Van Gelder was not on the tour, surely he was in one of his labs. Or someone in his labs would know something about his whereabouts. 

“Oh Lethe, come in. Lethe, this is the Captain and Dr. Marcus.” Dr. Adams introduced the inmate, who looked like she was heavily medicated, as if she were a member of the penal colony staff. 

He turned to Kirk and continued, “Lethe came to us for rehabilitation and stayed on as a therapist. A very good one too, I might add.” Carol froze then, recognizing the woman from her file. 

News of the call from Khan had spread through the Enterprise at light speeds, but no one wanted to tell her. Carol was plugging away at eliminating all the extraneous weapons signatures from the starcharts from the Fall of Vulcan when Christine texted her and told her about it. 

She knew her face must have revealed her inner turmoil because when she looked up from her padd all four of the other women were crowded around her. Uhura sat on the workstation table where she had her padds spread out and Martine came to her side, offering her a glass of water. 

Carol couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, shocked at how friendly her colleagues were being. She'd been used to the reality that Christine was her closest friend, and that she also happened to be weeks away at warp. Put off by the unexpected news and overwhelmed by the support of the women she'd worked alongside every day for the last few months, she opened up to them. 

What turned into an all night long dialogue, officers to ensigns sharing their advice and support with her, coalesced into a team as somehow each of the women settled back into the role they'd played on their project---but where the objective now was getting to the bottom of Khan's message and protecting the Enterprise from what was likely a trap. 

They had all agreed that she should be on the away team. 

Carol shot a message to Spock letting him know she would represent the Science section, and then Uhura and Palmers worked with her on each reply to his supplemental questions. She sat the workstation typing on her padd, the two Comms officers at either shoulder grooming and editing her language. 

That was while Martine and Hannity dug up every bit of information on Tantalus colony that they could, which included staff and inmate files. 

Lethe McGhee was a follower of a radical, fringe movement led by the charismatic Dr. Severin. The group was on and off Federation terrorist watch lists, the back and forth due to the fact that they had an anti-Federation mission (to reject the technological society of the Federation), but very rarely had members who broke the law. 

Lethe McGhee was a giant exception. 

A computer scientist, she specifically protested the lack of privacy members of the Federation had. Her activism began with posting videos on the next from security cameras showing prominent people in normal, every day moments with messages like They didn't know they were being watched. Do you? Or You don't have to be famous to get 24/7 attention. 

These were followed by videos of average individuals where it was obvious they had no idea they were on camera. Then politicians in compromising positions. 

As the lawsuits began to pile up, she turned to Federation leadership, leaking video after video of compromising video calls, taped meetings, and other excruciatingly private moments. 

Carol had remembered seeing her on the news when she was arrested. Lethe had pissed off plenty of people in Federation leadership, and as her father was on his way up he had no sympathy for this homegrown radical. And on the news, Lethe came off like a babbling, paranoid person who should rightly be in an asylum. 

Now she was a calm, sedate woman and apparently a competent therapist.

“I love my work.” Lethe said, startling Carol out of her own thoughts with a tone that sounded robotic. 

Carol met Kirk's eyes and was shocked at what she saw. She'd just assumed he would not have done his homework, but he looked as alarmed at the inmate-turned-therapist as she was. Dr. Adams seemed to notice. 

“Go right ahead, Captain,” he said, nodding from Kirk to Lethe.

“Lethe, can I ask you a personal question?” When Jim Kirk focused on someone, he focused, and in this instance he held the inmate's gaze and bent forward slightly so they were eye-to-eye. Normally Carol knew this was where most women melted. In her own first encounter with him, she'd felt it---and even after he'd just made it clear he hadn't remembered her best friend at all. 

But Lethe seemed singularly unmovable. 

“I was another person. Malignant, hateful.” She said all of this calmly, with an even voice that was one step away from the voice of the Enterprise computer. 

Kirk's brow furrowed and Carol wondered if they were thinking the same thing: that neither of those adjectives properly described Lethe McGhee before her incarceration. 

“Perhaps. When I saw you on the news, you seemed more like you were devoted to a cause. I find it hard to reconcile your current position with your passionate championing of the rights of humans over machines. How did you come to peace with not being able to continue your activism?”

“Does it matter? That person no longer exists.” Without conscious thought Carol stepped back and her eyes widened. She had considered that perhaps Khan was telling the truth, exploiting secret experiments at Tantalus for his own gain, but this sort of mental manipulation went far beyond what would be acceptable in Federation medical communities. 

“Um,” Dr. Adams stepped in, seeing the tension at his “therapist's” response, “part of our cure, if you will, Captain, is to bury the past. Why should a person go on living with unbearable memories---or in this case, unbearable convictions---if there is no necessity. She could not effect the change she wished to see, and so through therapy concluded that she should also spare herself the suffering associated with it. In therapy, would that not be the proper course, Doctor?”

Carol turned sharply, having gotten accustomed to the fact that Dr. Adams seemed completely at ease speaking to Captain Kirk for most of the tour. And she wasn't a medical doctor, but as head of the Science section she easily could have been one. 

“A shifting of memory patterns is basic to psychotherapy...” she said, her statement both vague and generic as she sought to not reveal her true expertise if Dr. Adams didn't already know it.

Dr. Adams seemed unaware of any deception on her part. Smiling, he dismissed Lethe and motioned to the door. 

“Should we continue? Dr. Van Gelder has opened up his labs and treatment rooms for the tour, and I'm sure you will both be interested in what he is working on right now.” Kirk nodded and they followed him out of the room. Feeling her communicator vibrate, she opened it and found a message from Kirk. 

[This feels like a waste of our time. And where is Dr. Van Gelder?]


	4. Dagger of the Mind, Part 3

Marla was back in her quarters, in her comfort zone, but she didn't need the whitebox room's sensors to tell her that her heart was still pounding. She typed her report furiously, knowing the Captain and Dr. Marcus were still on Tantalus with Dr. Tristan Adams.

And knowing that right now, Adams was more dangerous than Khan.

By the end of her interview she was confident that she had accomplished the impossible: She'd fooled Khan Noonien Singh. Dropping little hints that she knew his past, combined with her clearly agitated manner, had made the Augment think she was scared, anxious, meek, and more than a little attracted to him.

It didn't hurt that all of that was also true.

She'd spent years studying him and as many other narratives of Augments as she could identify. Her mentor, Historian Weld, had a theory that some of the survivor narratives from the Zombie Apocalypse that kicked off the “Golden Age of Comics” in the years when Earth rebuilt after the devastation were actually accounts of Augments who had stayed to help people fight off the zombie hordes.

She looked around her at her quarters, the metal walls covered in blown-up comic book covers and comic art from that period. All of the heroes and villains that adorned her walls were real people, and she'd made a name for herself by digging up and putting together fragmented pieces of the historical record which proved it.

What she was hoping Khan didn't understand was that she could obsess over him and still remain loyal to the Enterprise.

She sent off her report, copying the Captain, Dr. Marcus, and Mr. Spock. Then she added the Bridge and the Conn, just to be sure. Finished with that task, she got up and started to pace her small quarters restlessly.

Would they read it in time?

 

“Security alert, Condition three. All sections go to alert condition three. We may have an intruder aboard.”

Lt. Uhura's voice echoed above their head as Security Specialist Cyani made their way down the corridor, cutting through Engineering. Just out of the Academy, Cyani had the title “Specialist”, both to reflect that they was somewhere between a cadet and an ensign and that they had specialized in some way. Cyani's specialty was profiling and catching saboteurs, or individuals with technical skill sets that deliberately broke things on starships. As Starfleet was rushing new recruits onto ships there had been a spike in this kind of security risk, and Cyani worked with a small team of Specialists to make sure the Enterprise did not explode, implode, or stop dead in space because of a successful sabotage.

Today that took them to Engineering Bay 2, where a collection of small non-Federation scout-size vessels were being held. Having a few non-Starfleet options for travel was helpful to the Enterprise crew for a whole host of reasons, but the alternative tech on board created additional risk. They did a thorough systems check on each ship and was now headed towards the turbolift and back to Security when they passed a crewman in Engineering technician overalls that set off a mental red alert.

“Excuse me,” Cyani turned, several thoughts going through their mind: if this was a new crewman, they would have recognized him from the onboarding logs they reviewed daily; if this was a crewman he would stop in case they needed directions; but there was an intruder alert, and if this was an intruder he would run.

He ran.

Cyani gave chase, communicator out and open, “Hey, stop that tech! Specialist Cyani to Bridge. Possible intruder sighting in Engineering, Section C, deck fourteen.”

“Bridge Acknowledged. Security, seal off Engineering, Section C, deck fourteen.”

“Security Acknowledged,” a male voice echoed overhead. Briefly Cyani wondered how insane these shipwide alerts must sound from other parts of the ship right now.

Then they reeled back as the intruder turned the corner and was tackled by a Security officer coming the opposite way.

 

“Security has made an arrest in Engineering. They have confirmed that it is an intruder. I've also got a report coming in from secure medical storage. They've got a Sickbay crewman unconscious and a cargo case open and empty.”

Lt. Uhura said all of this with her head tilted to the side towards Commander Spock while her eyes were trained on the board and her left ear was still taking in reports from Security and Medical.

“Is the cargo case large enough for an inmate to smuggle themselves inside it?” he asked, and he watched as she relayed the question.

“Confirmed, Commander.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Please open a channel to Tantalus colony.”

“Aye, Commander.”

The penal colony was protected by a thick deflector shield and a subspace barrier, even now that the Enterprise away team was on board, and at first only an audio signal came through.

“Tantalus Colony. Adams here.”

“Doctor Adams? This is Commander Spock. It appears an inmate in your facility may have smuggled themselves on board.”

The screen changed as Lt. Uhura started to get video transmission as well. He walked forward and looked at the helm and navigation consoles. On their screens the penal colony's defense systems were displayed. The subspace barrier was down, but the deflector shield was still up.

Curious

“Let me look into it. Terribly sorry Commander. I'm a little surprised that I haven't been alerted that a prisoner is missing from our rolls. I'll get back to you as soon as I know anything.”

The video and audio cut out, leaving the colony on the main viewing screen.

Spock walked towards his Science station slowly, hands moving to the small of his back as he spoke.

“A high security Federation penal colony loses a prisoner in a secure transfer to a starship and does not notice the loss. The odds against such an occurrence are,” he looked over at Lt. Uhura, who was giving him that look, “rather high.”

“They weren't expecting us. Maybe that's the reason?” Sulu asked, and now everyone stationed on the Bridge was turned towards the exchange.

“But by that logic their security would be better, not worse,” Uhura countered, just as something attracted her to her boards.

As Spock was at the Conn, Chekov had taken the Science station and his fingers were flying over the keys. Then the main viewer was filled with the Tantalus prisoner rolls. Spock nodded to him and the younger man beamed.

He continues to improve his ability to anticipate the needs of fellow officers. Someday he will make an efficient First Officer.

“Lieutenant, ask Security---”

“Sir, Security has already compared the intruder to the prisoner rolls. He is not a prisoner, but they have identified him. His behavior was erratic, so they are transporting him to Sickbay for medical confinement.”

“And who is he?” Spock asked as she took the viewer herself, filling it with a Tantalus personnel file.

“He is Dr. Simon Van Gelder, the second doctor on Tantalus.”

Just then his padd chimed, the alert that he had an urgent message. And then the same sound came from a padd near the Communications console. And then another alert went off at the Science station. Curious, Spock moved over to his station and picked up the padd where it was docked and charging.

His eyebrows climbed as he quickly read Specialist MiGivers's report.

“Sulu, you have the Conn. I'll be in Sickbay. Lt. Uhura, have Doctor McCoy meet me there, and try to raise Tantalus and get Captain Kirk on the comm. I am taking my personal communicator with me.”

The turbolift door closed on his words.  
___________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Report,” Spock said as he rounded the corner, and Dr. McCoy obliged.

“Abnormal brain chemistry. All the levels are off. And it's not schizophrenia, tissue damage, or any other condition I'm acquainted with. For one, it took me a triple dose of sedative to get him comfortable after Security got him here.”

“Has he said anything?” The pace of their back-and-forth was brisk, and Spock walked around to look at Van Gelder on the biobed. He looked like his personnel file, but more distressed, harried.

In his hand he was still holding his padd cued up to the security feed footage, which he'd watched in the turbolift and as he'd walked down the corridors on his way here, where the Doctor wrestled three Security guards in a frenzy.

“He was plenty talkative, just not informative. He'd claim one thing, and then lose focus and seem to forget what he was saying. And then he'd insist on something and trigger an acute, short burst migraine. I can't trace the source of the pain he is experiencing, but it's obviously something neurological.”

Spock looked down at the patient, concerned for the well-being of a fellow sentient being but balancing that concern with his need to recover the away team from Tantalus.

“We'll need to at least give the appearance that the Doctor will return, or the Captain and away team will be stranded. Without their cooperation the Enterprise cannot beam our crew back from Tantalus. The penal colony's deflector shield will prevent it.”

Something Spock said triggered Van Gelder, who awoke with a start, bolted upright in bed, and locked eyes on the Vulcan.

“I won't let you take me back! I'm not going! No No no..” Dr. McCoy hit him with a hypo and his energy deflated. Spock's hands clasped behind his back and he moved towards McCoy, putting himself between the Doctor and his deranged patient.

“Dr. Van Gelder,” he addressed him, leaning forward a little in an attempt to use his body language to build some instinctual rapport, “we are here because we know something is wrong on Tantalus. Tell me about the Neural Neutralizer.”

“I'm not a CRIMINAL!” Van Gelder starting fighting again, and Spock physically took his arms, holding him still.

“Why is this important for you to tell us?” Spock demanded.

“I do not require the neural neutralizer!”

“But what is it? What is the Neural Neutralizer?” Now Spock was on one knee, slightly lower than Van Gelder but holding his arms so they were facing each other. He could hear McCoy behind him scanning.

“A room. A device. Door. Control panel...” Van Gelder pushed out the words, obviously struggling, “... I see it. A device. The light!” McCoy reached around Spock, hitting Van Gelder with another hypo.

“Doctor, we were finally getting somewhere. I fail to see the point of..” Spock began, only to be cut off.

“Look at these readings, Spock!” He thrust his tricorder at the First Officer. “Every word was causing him intense pain.” The First Officer's eyes narrowed.

“Doctor, I have to concentrate on getting the Captain and crew off Tantalus. But when I'm successful, Van Gelder has to be in a state to testify about the Neural Neutralizer to justify our actions here.”

“I don't know how I'm going to make that happen...” McCoy's gaze turned to the wall and Spock knew he was thinking, entertaining possible scenarios.

“I have an idea. It would be unethical without his permission, but if we can explain it to him and he consents, it could return him to his former state of mind.” The Doctor was nodding.

“He doesn't feel the pain when listening. Only when trying to talk.”

“The other thing we will need is privacy, especially from the Healer. She will not approve of this.” At that McCoy looked down, looking up something on his padd.

“I have just the place for him them. Do what you need to do. We'll be ready and I'll text you where.”

 

Captain Kirk and Dr. Marcus continued the tour with Dr. Tristan Adams, Security Officer Dirk behind them in tow. They moved into a treatment room that consisted of a whitebox room with one recliner chair.

The chair was tilted back, which would have given anyone seated in it a direct line of sight to the ceiling, where a concentrated high grade leaser and brain wave modulator was mounted. The neon green lens casing was covered with a white frosted glass globe and it was set in a bronze colored focusing ring. All of the components were in the same configuration they would be in a weapon, and Carol's mind ran through the military use possibilities.

“A neural neutralizer. Experimental.” Dr. Adams spoke easily, calmly, and Lethe reappeared, walking behind him to sit at a console. “Actually, we don't expect to get much use out of it at all. That beam from above neutralizes brain waves, relaxes the patient's mind. Does them no harm, of course, and the effects are only temporary.”

“Wait,” Kirk interrupted, “if the effects are only temporary then why use it at all?” Dr. Marcus had a horrible feeling about this, and if they weren't in such close quarters she would have sent Kirk a text on his comm not to push.

“Well, one use could be to reduce a chronically ill patient's reliance on medication,” she said generously.

“Exactly my point.” Adams replied, nodding. “That was Van Gelder's original idea in developing it.”

“How does it work?” Again, the Captain was pushing.

“As I said, the effects are temporary. Would you like a demonstration, Captain?”

Behind Kirk, a door opened with a woosh.

“Actually, I think I'll pass.” As he spoke a giant man in staff clothes stepped behind Dirk and threw an arm around his neck.

Putting Dirk in headlock, the inmate began to smother the life out of him.

“Step into the room and take a seat in the chair, Captain, and Crane will let him breathe.”

Kirk stepped into the treatment room and threw himself in the chair. Crane let go of Dirk and the almost eight foot Enterprise Security Officer went down to his knees and then faceplanted.

“Lethe,” Dr. Adams turned to address the inmate/therapist, “walk them through a demonstration of the device.”

“It works quite simply. Off/on switches, and the large control here changes the strength of the brain neutralizing beam.” As she spoke, she turned the beam up and down, and Carol watched in horror as, for a few moments, Kirk's face went completely blank.

“What happened there??” she demanded.

“The device neutralized his thoughts. This leaves him open for a suggestion from us. Lethe, let's give the Doctor an example.

She turned the dial up, and Kirk's eyes got glassy.

“Now Captain Kirk is going to have a complete demonstration. I want there to be no doubts whatsoever in his mind. You're madly in love with Dr. Carol Marcus, Captain. You'd lie, cheat, steal for her, sacrifice your career, your reputation.”

Carol snarled then, snapping and going for Lethe at the controls. Dirk shook himself awake and took the opportunity the chaos afforded. He went for the larger inmate, and for a moment there were two struggles in the tight space of the room. Adams continued.

“The pain. Do you feel it, Captain? You must have her, or the pain grows worse, the pain, the longing for her.”

“Carol...” Jim Kirk moaned, his face the picture of agony, as Carol wrestled with Lethe, who was still calm but surprisingly ruthless. Lethe had her by the hair and Carol punched her in the stomach repeatedly to keep her the therapist from slamming her head into the console.

“For years, you've loved her, Captain, for years.”

“For years I've loved you...” A loud thud signaled to Carol that Dirk was down, and in seconds he had her off Lethe and closer to the door.

They all knew it would be useless for her to run.

Lethe returned to the console and turned the neural neutralizer down and off. Adams turned to Dr. Marcus.

“I trust my point has been made.”

His face was twisted, a complete departure from everything they had seen since their beam down. She stood in silence, hoping he would continue and tell her that the part about it being temporary was true.

“Now you are going to go back to the ship. You are going to convince Kirk to write a favorable report on Tantalus. In this state he'll do whatever you tell him to do. Then, when I know it's done, I'll send you medical data you can use to undo the conditioning.”

Adams was both brilliant and several steps ahead of them. Marcus knew he wasn't one to make obvious mistakes.

“What then prevents us from recanting our reports?” Carol was comforted by how confident and calm she sounded, though in truth she was scared out of her mind.

“I'm sure you see now that Tantalus is mine. All of the inmates save our new arrival are already under my control. The staff have been dispatched. And Van Gelder is far beyond any hope for recovery by now. This facility is impenetrable, but even if you got someone here it wouldn’t do you any good. Anyone you send down will be at my mercy, and my brain scans of Khan make it clear that while his genetics may be superior, his mind is still vulnerable.”

At that Dr. Marcus blanched, her mind going to the one thing that scared her more than her current situation: Khan escaping.

“I've got seventy-three supermen and women programmable to my whims and needs. Know when you've been beaten.”

She stared at Dr. Adams for a few moments. Even if they reported the truth to Starfleet, she knew there would still be Admirals who’d petition for the experiments to continue. The promise of programmable Supermen was too good to pass up. She had no chance of helping Kirk or saving Dirk if she didn't take his deal.

“You're right. I can see that. We'll go back and make it as if this conversation never needed to happen.” and then Adams smiled, and the look of pleasure on his face disgusted her.

“Excellent.”

The transporter effect faded as Captain Kirk, Dr. Marcus, and Security Officer Dirk returned to the Enterprise. At the controls, Mr. Spock looked almost relieved at their return.

At their hips, each of their comms went off with an urgent message. No one moved to check it.

“Captain, Doctor, Officer. It is fortunate we were able to recover you. The situation on Tantalus is grave.”

As Kirk lowered the still unconscious Dirk to the deck he shot Marcus a look. She'd told him that he had to keep their relationship a secret, convincing him as they made their way to the penal colony's secure control room.

All he'd said in response was that he loved her. He'd said it over and over, his eyes, face, and voice completely earnest.

“You're right, Mr. Spock. We need to get to Sickbay at once.”

“Van Gelder's on board, but he isn't himself. Dr. Adams used the neural neutralizer on his fellow penal colony Director and now Van Gelder's mind is damaged. He snuck on when we beamed over the colony's cargo.”

She just hoped there was something they could do without help from Dr. Adams, for both Kirk and Van Gelder's sakes.

 

Spock entered the barometric chamber, a room deep within the Medical section tucked away in a long row of chambers meant to test biological samples under a whole host of environmental conditions. The door was keyed to his palm, and closed behind him.

Inside Dr. McCoy had wheeled in Van Gelder, who was lying flat on a biobed, strapped down.

“I take it we will not be using the barometric features of this chamber today,” Spock said drily as he controlled the instinctual stress reaction at what he was about to attempt. The Doctor did not call him on the “small talk”, and he wondered if McCoy understood how difficult this would be for him.

“Good job getting Jim and the team back on board.” McCoy was reconfiguring the console and spoke over his own shoulder. In moments, the standard Sickbay readings were displayed on the wallscreen above the biobed.

Right now Van Gelder was stable.

“Do I need to get you a stool or...” Dr. McCoy began to trail off, opening the door for any request the Vulcan should make.

“That will be unnecessary, Doctor,” Spock replied almost absentmindedly, moving behind the bed to stand at Van Gelder's head.

“Doctor Van Gelder, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Spock saw McCoy taking in the readings that were now behind him, but he did not need to see them. He could hear the slight rise in heart rate and breathing that indicated Van Gelder's discomfort.

“He can't even acknowledge his own name without feeling pain.” Doctor McCoy's observation was tinged with anger, and Spock could sympathize. He knew McCoy had met Van Gelder before, so he must have seen him under normal circumstances and now had this in comparison.

A sweaty shell of a man strapped to a bed who could barely say his own name.

“Do you understand what we will be attempting? It is not without danger to you.” Spock's voice was softer, lower, and he avoided anything that he thought might cause Van Gelder additional pain.

“Yessss...” he hissed, and then stopped. When it was clear that did not hurt him, he continued. “This is no life. No life...”

That was all the permission Spock needed. He took both hands and splayed out the fingers, putting them on either side of Van Gelder's face and bending forward over the strapped down doctor. Van Gelder's eyes closed and for a few minutes both of them were silent, faces twitching but no other obvious signs of movement.

Inside the other's mind, it was hard to navigate for all the damage. Every memory that included who he was, what role he played, that he was a avoid this... all of it was burnt. Burnt but still intact.

He had considered several possible strategies in thinking though how he could best help in this situation. Now one rose to the top as the best choice.

He would merge their minds.

As one, Spock could block the pain so the other could speak, and he knew the barometric chamber automatically recorded activity, the cameras and other equipment cued automatically when the chamber is opened for use.

He communicated his intentions to the other.

This?

Yessss....

McCoy watched, pacing around them, tricorder out to catch things the biobed might miss.

It was too quiet. He felt helpless.

And then they both opened their eyes, and McCoy fought hard not to reel back in horror. Spock's face was tilted up, and looked blank. His mouth fell open and slack.

“What is our name? Who are we?” Spock asked, and immediately his jaw tightened. McCoy fixed the scanner on him as Van Gelder's face smoothed into calm and he answered easily.

“We are Simon Van Gelder.”

Spock's shoulders jerk back and McCoy's tricorder measured the spike in pain. He started to understand---Spock was taking the pain so Van Gelder could explain what was happening on Tantalus.

“Doctor Adams. The neural neutralizer. What did he do to us?”

It seemed like there were trigger words, phrases, and names, and as Spock used them he also fought the pain that went with their use.

“He can reshape any mind he chooses. He used it to erase our memories, put his own thoughts there. He was surprised it took so much power. We fought him, remember?”

At this Spock made a sound that was shockingly like a growl.

“Yes. We remember.” The Vulcan was clearly angered, and the anger seemed to be helping him cope with what was now shocking levels of pain with no physical source.

“But we grew so tired, our minds so blank, so open, that any thought he placed there became our thoughts. Our minds so empty like a sponge, needing thoughts, begging. Empty. So lonely to be sitting there empty, wanting any word from him...”

The pain indicators on McCoy's tricorder went down and Spock's face reacted as well. His jaw relaxed, and his face turned into a surprisingly lonely look.

“...wanting love...” Van Gelder whispered, and Spock's replies came instantly in response.

“Yes...”

“...hate...”

“...yes...”

“...to live...”

“...yes...”

“...to die...”

“...yes...”

“...such agony to be empty...”

“...empty...”

McCoy didn't like where this was going. They had what they needed, and both men were starting to show dips in heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing.

“Spock. Spock! SPOCK!” McCoy started shouting. When that didn't work he grabbed the First Officer by his blue sleeves and started to shake him.

And all at once they were both looking at him intently, and he dropped his grasping hands, reeling back. Then Spock’s face dropped to Van Gelder’s as the doctor began to speak.

“Yes... you don't belong... but this was nice...a break...”

“I am Spock. You are the other.”

“I am the other. You are Spock.”

“Spock.”

“The other.”

“Spock.”

“The other.”

And all at once Spock dropped his hands and stood up. He looked dead on his feet, and this time McCoy didn't ask about the stool. He slid it under the Vulcan, who managed to make dropping down onto it look graceful.

McCoy got on his knees, eye-to-eye with their Vulcan First Officer.

“Why is he still the other?” the Doctor asked, though he strongly suspected he knew the answer.

“Because anything else would cause him pain. I cannot heal him.” Spock spoke slowly, taking moments to breathe between each sentence. McCoy didn't rush him. “The machine could, but that's too big of a risk. All of the staff were turned into inmates and the inmates staff, save Khan.”

“No wonder he called to tattle...” McCoy began. Spock held up his hand and the Doctor nodded for him to continue.

“T'Lok can also heal him. I did not want to risk it before.”

“Why not? Surely she wouldn't hurt him.” Spock jerked his head to the side.

“On the contrary,” he began, his volume and pacing getting back to normal, “if his mind was unrecoverable she would have killed him. In that case it would have been a mercy.”

McCoy looked over at Dr. Van Gelder, sleeping lightly in the biobed, his face covered in sweat. It might not be something he would want himself, but he could understand that. And then something occurred to him.

“But she wouldn't have shared with us what happened.”

“No. And we would be no closer to ending the abuses on Tantalus.” At that Spock rose, and McCoy did so as well.

“I'll have him moved to a patient room. Somewhere close to Jim. My techs are sending me readings that make me think they used the machine on him too.”

“That coincides with Dr. Marcus's report.” Spock was nodding, and McCoy could tell other duties were pressing him.

“Go on. Leave the treating of patients to me and get brass on the horn about Tantalus.”

He would challenge anyone to tell him Spock didn't look relieved to get as far away from Sickbay as possible.


	5. Dagger of the Mind, Part 4

T'Lok was in her quarters when Dr. McCoy caught up with her. And “caught up” was exactly what he did, because despite their lack of regular use for T'Lok, she had found a number of ways to occupy her time.

Just as he would anyone else on the Enterprise, McCoy monitored her activity to make sure she was not isolating herself, going without food, sleep, or exercise, or taking any of these in excess. What was discovered in doing so surprised him, though not too much.

She rose in between Delta shift and Alpha shift, making her way first to the Hydroponics gardens. After the Fall of Vulcan, the ship's Botany staff had taken samples of all of the Vulcan flora on board and started a section of the gardens dedicated to promulgating these plants. When Spock discovered it, he added samples of his own from the “care packages” his mom sent him. When the Healer first came on board, these gardens were a part of her tour. Now she started every day there, in meditation.

She then moved to the Recreation Deck, running on the track and then taking a room for what curious crew were describing as “some Vulcan yoga”. At that time in the morning people were in the rec areas getting in some exercise before or after their shift, and while many of them had shared a track with Mr. Spock, the Healer's first couple of days here were a shock for them.

If she could run that fast, then Spock was obviously holding back.

She then moved to the Dining Hall, ordered tea, and sat. For her first couple of days on board this was the talk of the ship. Everyone was waiting to see who would join her. Then Uhura did, sitting with her and drinking tea in silence.

This made perfect sense to him. The Healer had been a tremendous relief for the Lieutenant. By the time the Healer arrived he had confined Uhura to her quarters and was genuinely concerned for her welfare.

But then Martine joined them. And then Palmers. As the humans began to outnumber the Vulcan the quiet table started to get loud as they talked and T'Lok sat in silence.

McCoy had read, studied, and queried his colleagues via subspace extensively about Vulcan Healers before T'Lok boarded the ship, so he knew what this behavior meant.

The Healer had taken on more clients.

That was her prerogative. This was a Federation vessel and she was a certified medical professional as per Federation regulation. And certainly he hadn't expected her to take one client and then be unoccupied. He just thought she would do research, teach, or write.

Standing in the small space just inside the door to her quarters, he was reminded that as a planet, Vulcan had been underpopulated. People enjoyed a lot of personal space, and many Vulcan pastimes included exploring the natural landscape on one's own. To her, these quarters must be tiny.

“Both Captain Kirk and one of the Directors of Tantalus Penal Colony have suffered extensive neurological damage from a device developed for use with prisoners. The device itself could repair the damage, but getting them to the device again would mean putting them back on the penal colony. Dr. Van Gelder smuggled himself off in an effort to save his own life and Captain Kirk barely made it out alive. Can you assist me with them?”

“I come to serve.”

Her mood abruptly changed after spending time alone with Van Gelder.

T'Lok turned the corner sharply as she exited Van Gelder's room and in moments was face-to-face with Dr. McCoy.

“Someone has already tampered with his mind.”

He reeled back, shocked at how quickly she'd crossed the room and gotten in his personal space. Seeming to remember herself, she took a step back and straightened.

“Hey, now! I told you there had been damage. It's from the Neural Neutralizer.”

“Incorrect. Is that a mistake or a fabrication?” The Doctor was used to Spock's ability to cut through social niceties to the very heart of the matter and dropped his pretense.

“Were you able to heal him?”

“Yes.” Her eyes bore into his, but she said nothing. Standing in silence was uncomfortable, but as a physician who on occasion had to deliver bad news, he was practiced. After several long moments she turned away from him.

“Where is your Captain?”  
\-----------------------------------------------------

“Thank you for speaking with me Doctor. It was so good to meet you, and it is especially good to see you well.” Carol rose from the stool she'd been using to sit by Van Gelder's bedside. He was obviously still tired, and as soon as she saw him she regretted charging in to get information from him.

She was also relieved, because even speaking to him for only a few minutes made it abundantly clear that the Vulcan Healer was able to undo the damage from the Neural Neutralizer. And that boded well for Kirk.

And for her. And then again for him, since if his declarations of undying devotion didn't stop she was liable to kill him herself.

She jerked back, her moving out of the room bringing her to very nearly crash into said Healer. The Vulcan woman stared at her with emotionless, unfathomable eyes.

“Pardon me, I'm so sorry. I did not mean to...” Carol trailed off, a little unnerved. She worked with Spock at arm's length, but had worked more closely with Vulcan weapons experts before. Contrary to popular belief they did indeed exist.

But she had also heard that Healers were the most disciplined---had to be, since their telepathic gifts could overwhelm them otherwise.  
Certainly that was what bothered her about this Healer.

“The Captain will not allow me near him without speaking to you first.” This was the last thing Carol expected the Healer to say, and her surprise slid right into annoyance. He'd been needy and emotional and tactile with her ever since they returned to the ship and it had eaten through all her patience.

She had enough of it left to just stop herself before she rolled her eyes.

“He insists,” the Healer added, and Dr. Marcus nodded.

“He can be insistent. I'll speak to him.” She nodded to the older Vulcan woman and moved toward Kirk's room.

Walking through the door she sealed it after herself. No one should see Jim Kirk like this.

“They want to poke around in my head. They can't, or the Healer will learn the truth about Tantalus.” Kirk crossed the room as he spoke, and stepped a little too close to her. His hand went to her elbow and something about him being in her personal space and the touch made her jerk back and step away.

“We talked about this. They musn't see.” That was the excuse she'd been giving to keep him off her, and she could tell it was wearing thin. His too smart eyes were looking at her like she was a puzzle he was working on and that intense, gear-turning look made her wary.

Kirk stepped back and then moved to sit on the biobed.

“We need to talk.” Again, this was the last thing she expected him to say. It was starting to feel like everything certain and predictable in her life was unraveling.

“Let the Healer help you.”

“I will if you'll talk to me about it.” Bargaining with Kirk was always a bad idea. He was too smart---she'd sensed that on the shuttlecraft when they met. He was already five steps ahead.

“About what?” Looking at the biobed sensors above him was easier than looking at him.

“I've hurt you. No no, don't wave it off. I can tell by your body language---hell just by your face---that I've harmed you. And maybe when the Healer is done with me and I'm back to my old self I won't care. But I care now. Let me help.” There was that earnest tone again. And those eyes. He stayed seated on the biobed but looked like he was ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

“It wasn't that you don't care.” Carol walked to one side of the room, pouring herself a small cup of water from the cistern meant for this room's patient. “It was that you don't notice.”

He laughed then, and his voice was relieved. “I can't imagine I didn't notice you, Carol.”

It was then that she snapped.

Turning on him slowly, all pretense of caring about the fact that he was in a vulnerable state was gone. All of his declarations and constant gestures had frayed her nerves and her years in a weapons lab made her unused to the fear and adrenaline of the universe outside it.

“Yes, but when I use notice, I mean that you notice me as a fellow Starfleet officer, not a nice body and a fascinating conversationalist.”

Her mind noted that he had not expected that. She wondered if the machine Adams used had tampered with those memories.

It didn't stop her, because she was frustrated and enraged and he had literally asked her for it.

“I do notice women. Just because I'm promiscuous...”

“It is not about your number of partners!” She was shrill, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed Jim hit the soundproofing control on the console nearest his hand. She got quiet, but that just meant her anger was more focused. “I'm as liberated as the next woman—-”

She started, and Jim's face started to crumple. He was still hurt, and if he rejected the Healer...

“---but the worst part about it is that you are a good man, Jim Kirk. You are willing to sacrifice yourself for your crew. You've got the most moral compass in the fleet by your side, and you aren't too arrogant to listen to him, even when what he says goes against every other measure of authority.”

As he started to nod, she felt a ball of resentment roll around in her stomach. If she was ever going to stop using Spock as a shield---which she really should, because it was not fair to him---she needed to confront him on this.

She looked him square in the eyes.

“And that is the worst part about it, because you could tell when Lt. Uhura and Spock were fighting just by her body language but you missed how Christine Chapel was mourning the loss of her fiance despite it.”

Nothing. No reaction at all.

That struck her because when she'd confronted him about it before he had looked down. At the time she thought he was trying to remember her friend among an already legendary list of conquests, but perhaps he'd looked down before because he had remembered her.

Now he did not remember her at all. Ironically, it made the rest of it easier for her to say, because she knew he wouldn't fully understand it until much later.

“All you saw was a nice body. She told me how you came bouncing into Sickbay, not legally cleared to be on board and hitting on everything that moved. Including her, as she walked by, tilting your head towards her and slurring.”

His eyes widened. He was wondering what kind of a man he was.

“And then, on the way back, when you were the Captain, not a glance at all. Walking through Sickbay and talking to Dr. McCoy right next to her without a greeting or a look. Like she didn't matter.”

Jim looked down at his hands, as if he needed to look away from her to focus. She had watched him in the past turn those gears and connect a few seemingly unconnected things and make an intuitive leap. She made it for him.

“And then, when she was stationed to leave on the first outpost that would take her, you saw her as available, someone it would not be against regulations to connect with. But only until she was gone.”

“I'm sure I regret all of that.”

“I'm not.” They were eye-to-eye then, and she just held his gaze for a moment. This was her first away mission in a long time and she was emotionally worn out.

“On Tantalus, Dr. Adams convinced you that you loved me with the Neural Neutralizer. You don't, and when the Healer is done the pain you feel without me will be gone. And you are a good man and a smart man and you make a good Captain, save for this: At least once, and I suspect more than once, you saw a woman as a sexual partner and not as a person.”

She moved over and sat on the stool beside the biobed, getting on the same level as Jim was seated on the bed and leaned towards her.

“Adams ordered me to make you give Tantalus a good report with Fleet brass and move on, and he said you would do whatever I told you to do. That you would do anything I asked because you love me now.”

Jim nodded, confirming the Doctor's confidence in the machine.

“Are you going to order me to allow the Healer to treat me?” She shook her head, her blond hair tossing like a thick curtain around her face.

“No I was going to let Doctor McCoy do that. If, when the Healer is done, you still have the desire to do something for me then I want you to report yourself for professional misconduct.”

“Wait, shouldn't I be trying to apologize to Christine?”

“No,” she said slowly, starting to get angry again despite herself, “At this point in her life not having anything to do with you is what she wants. But your actions have consequences. Already a promoted crewmenber from Enterprise has his own ship. His only experience with what a Captain ought to act like comes from you.”

She watched as that sank in, as he began to understand.

“And if you don't believe you've done anything wrong, ask your friend Mr. Spock if he is comfortable with your behavior around women and see what he says.”

Carol turned and left before she could see his reaction.

Carol was almost to her room when she finally checked her padd. That's when she saw Specialist MiGivers's message about Dr. Adams. Seeing red, she turned a corner sharply and doubled back.

While she normally wouldn't think of meeting a crewman for a dressing down in her quarters, since MiGivers never worked anywhere else Dr. Marcus had no choice.

Dr. Marcus had never entered Marla MiGivers's assigned crew quarters before, and was taken aback at the shrine to Apocalypse-Era historical figures it was. As she walked in, even before she spoke, her eyes were drawn to a giant blown up comic book cover with Khan at the center, looking for all the world like a Romance novel heartthrob. 

MiGivers was already standing, and her eyes moved to where Marcus's went.

“These are my quarters,” Marla said coldly, remembering their first go-round in the Transporter Room.

“Yes, they are. Would you like to speak to me in an alternative location? I can have a conference room cleared...” Carol offered, hoping the other woman would accept.

“No, whatever you need to say to me you can say here.” MiGivers straightened her uniform and stood at attention. After a moment, Marcus nodded.

“As Science Officer it is my duty to debrief you after an away mission. And while I can do that in a report, a mistake as egregious as yours was on this last mission necessarily means a conversation as well.” She watched MiGivers roll her eyes and it set her jaw.

Carol took a deep breath and waited. MiGivers took the silence as an opportunity to speak.

“I understand that you have a problem with what I do and how I do it, but I'm a Historian and if no one had opened a sleeper ship full of Augments and decided to use one for personal gain then you wouldn't even have a problem.”

Carol took another breath, visualizing the inner workings of a coil-powered handheld ion canon.

“I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but I accomplished the task I was assigned. Using my extensive knowledge of Khan Noonien Singh from his writings and other parts of historical record I concluded that if he thought I was scared, weak, and a little in awe of him that it would feed his ego, disarm him, open him up.”

The coil heated, sending energy to the manifolds that then stored it in titanium-cased power cells. 

“And I was right! He told me everything he knew, and it didn't take the time it would have if, say, you had interviewed him and not me. And just because Mr. Spock made you promise not to interact with Khan,”

The power cells held the energy until the trigger was pushed, which sent a chain reaction of plastic gears through the weapon, the last of which tripped the magnetic lock that separated the power cells from the firing chamber.

“...and to assign me to the away mission for that purpose doesn't mean you are allowed to use your authority to beat up on me.”

In the privacy of her mind, as she continued to watch MiGivers, who had finally stopped talking, while imagining how the tripping of the lock would release the stored energy, allowing her to use the ion canon to destroy all of the posters, figurines, and other memorabilia MiGivers had amassed in her collection.

Then Dr. Marcus took another breath, just in case she was interrupted again.

“I agree completely.” She let the words hang in the air, watching as the other woman went from surprised to slightly afraid.

“I agree that even though my reaction to having Mr. Spock talk me into assigning you to the case was frustration---at him, mind you, for assuming I would not understand why interviewing Khan myself would be a massive violation of protocol---that is no excuse for me to treat you unfairly.”

It was clear that Specialist MiGivers's social skills were not practiced enough to know how to handle this unexpected turn in the conversation and Marcus drew it out.

“I also agree that Admiral Marcus handled the discovery of the Augments poorly---no, more than poorly, criminally---and that had he not, I probably would not care about what you do in your private time.”

Now MiGivers's was nodding, mistaking her supervisor's agreement with some sort of reprieve.

“None of that changes the fact that the report on the penal colony I sent you had an extensive section on its defenses, including that the subspace barrier that prevents transmissions to-and-from Tantalus.”

First the Specialist was confused. And Dr. Marcus watched as it slowly dawn on her.

“You didn't get my report...” she started.

“I did,” Dr. Marcus said, holding up her padd, “as soon as we beamed back to the Enterprise. At that point I was rather preoccupied with getting Captain Kirk and Security Officer Dirk to Sickbay to check it.”

MiGivers sunk down into a chair.

“The only people who received your report in a timely manner were those here on the ship with you.”

“And because of the barrier, none of them could communicate with you on the penal colony.”

“You understand now.” This was the part she hated. One benefit to working in Weapons Research and Development was that the field rarely attracted the emotional scientist. There was no crying in her field.

And then she watched MiGivers go from sad to hopeful.

“But why would I have to read the part about the colony's defenses? We had an Away Team Support Specialist with us, and it was his job to know that.”

“What about your assignment or my message made you think that you were not expected to read the entire report before joining the away team?”

“I'm just saying--”

“What if the Away Team Support Specialist had been separated from the group? Or injured? I shared that information with everyone assigned to the away team because we were entering a hostile situation. And my assignments, despite how sensitive I may be on the subject of the mission, are orders.”

MiGivers was silent now, and she curved over in her chair. The action made Marcus back off, revolted by how much the other woman's body reeked of fear.

“Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

As Dr. Marcus walked down the hall, MiGivers's room receding behind her, she remembered Spock's hasty exit at their last meeting and forgave him his assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my reboot take on the classic Star Trek TOS episode Dagger of the Mind. If you haven't seen it, I hope this nudges you towards giving it a watch.


	6. Chapter 6

Standing at attention, Spock keyed up a visual feed to the Communications console on the Bridge. In seconds (2.56412) he was looking into Lt. Uhura's eyes. 

“Yes, Commander?”

“I am settled in Briefing Room 2. Where are we in the cue to speak to Admiral Komack?”

“We have one call ahead of us, Sir.”

“Please patch the call to me here. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You're welcome, Sir. Transferring the call now.”

Spock straightened his uniform shirt, staring into the viewscreen that took up the entire back wall of the room. He waited that way in silence for 4.72 minutes until his call connected. 

“Commander Spock. You said it was urgent, but I don't see Captain Kirk with you,” Admiral Komack appeared on the screen, sitting at his desk at Starfleet Headquarters. 

“The Captain is still in Sickbay, recovering from our supply mission to Tantalus Penal Colony, Sir.” The Admiral nodded, but his face was pinched in a frown. 

“About that. We can't just be diverting starships every time anyone calls us with a problem Commander. And since Khan is still just a detainee, not in formal custody at Tantalus, I don't even see how he was able to get a secure line to call Enterprise anyway.” Spock knew that Komack would continue if he did not step in, but was loath to interrupt anyone. He waited for the Admiral to take a breath.

“Indeed, it was that initial breach of protocol that attracted our attention. We were nearby, and orders to the contrary were not forthcoming, so we checked the roster and learned that Tantalus had just applied for a supply run. We took their request, prepared a cargo transfer, and then sent down an away team to assess the status of the penal colony.” 

Spock quickened his normal speaking pace, knowing he only had 1.25 minutes before the Admiral would want to speak again, and sure enough Komack started waving his hands at the monitor screen.

“Yes yes, you sent me your report. I'll get to it when I have a moment.”

“Begging your pardon, Admiral, but the situation we assessed on Tantalus is extreme, and requires swift intervention---”

“---These days everything is extreme and needs to be dealt with now, Commander. You've got four calls behind you. Make your case in two minutes or it'll have to wait til I get to the report.” 

Spock nodded, accepting the challenge. 

“Tantalus Penal Colony is run by two physicians, Dr. Tristan Adams and Dr. Simon Van Gelder. Dr. Van Gelder developed a machine designed to give patients temporary relieve from anxious and depressive symptoms without medication, and Dr. Adams saw the device's potential to be used for significant mental manipulation. Adams tested his theory with inmates, brainwashing them and promoting them to penal colony staff, replacing actual personnel one after another as his actions were discovered. When Van Gelder learned of this, Adams used the machine, which he named the Neural Neutralizer, on his fellow doctor. When the Enterprise crew arrived, all of the staff were locked up in cells, and the inmates loyal to Adams were running Tantalus.”

As Spock spoke, Komack's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open at the image of the inmates running the facility. 

“Now Mr. Spock, that is a fantastic accusation. What proof do you have?”

Spock checked his time. He still had 57.2 seconds left in the two minutes he had been allotted. 

“T'Lok, the Vulcan Healer we have on board, was able to undo the damage to Van Gelder's mind. Adams also used the machine on Captain Kirk, and then laid out a plan to Dr. Carol Marcus that included opening the cryo tubes and brainwashing the Augments to serve him. The Healer was able to treat Captain Kirk successfully as well. Her statement, along with the Captain's, Dr. Marcus's, and a statement from Dr. Van Gelder are all in my official report.”

Komack was looking down now, going through a padd Spock suspected had his report.

“I would never accuse you of not being thorough Commander. Should have had Dr. McCoy look over Van Gelder though, and Kirk too. I see he did before, but an examination after wouldn't have gone amiss. That said,” the Admiral looked up at Spock and then back down at the padd, “I guess it makes sense that you would think the Healer's word is enough to go on.”

The Admiral looked at something beeping behind him, and then back to the viewing screen. “From now on Commander, please make sure all reports are covered with Starfleet analysis from beginning to end. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“And send down some Enterprise staff to get Tantalus back on track. Use whatever force is necessary to get your people down. There isn't another ship we can send that way right now.”

“Admiral, the Enterprise does not have even a half-complement of experienced crew. We cannot afford---”

“---sing that song to someone else, Commander. You have two Science officers and plenty of support Specialists. Figure it out.” And with that the connection was cut and Spock was left staring at a blue screen with Starfleet insignia in the middle. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Security Specialist Cyani looked around in confusion. This was a peak time of day, beta shift change, and the corridors should be crowded with people. Instead, they was alone, occasionally passed quickly by a crewman rushing to get ahead of them 

They turned into a rec room and saw a group of people crowded around a wall viewer. They moved in to listen.

...after days spent fighting through the Gorlan fleet. The U.S.S. Tompkins attempted to negotiate with the Gorlans, calling for a surrender of hostilities. When this failed, the starship Tompkins tracked the Gorlans back to a rebel base and dealt their rebellion a critical blow...

“Psst!” Cyani looked down, in the direction of the sound, and there was Martine, almost a foot shorter than them and at their side. They nodded through the door and they both left the rec room. In the corridor, Martine pulled Cyani off to the side. 

“What's happening? That sounded less like news and more like science fiction,” Cyani whispered, something about the course of events so far making them feel conspiratorial. 

“The Tompkins destroyed a planet.”

Cyani was stunned, and only vaguely registered that Martine was whispering too. Now that they was thinking about it, the whole room behind them was abuzz with whispers. 

“They should be headed for a court martial, not heralded as heroes. The Federation does not fire on---”

“---I know.” Martine looked distressed, her huge, doe eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. Something tugged at Cyani.

“There, there. Whatever the reason is, it is bound to come out. In front of a tribunal or---”

“No, you don't understand. They're saying the Captain and Command Crew of the Tompkins won't be testifying at a court martial at all.” Now it was Cyani's turn to look away, if only to hide their own confusion. No matter what led up to this unconscionable result, there had to be a trial. To not even have one was too frightening a thought. 

“Hey there,” Martine said, her voice coaxing as she tugged on the specialist's arm, “let's find a rec room with no flats and get a coffee.”

Cyani nodded numbly and was led away.

\------------------------------------------------------------

On a ship out in space floating lazily in temporal waves, a hill of tin wafers snored. 

The wafers were crushed cans of commercially-packaged Romulan ale, and they slid a little with each exhalation. Each descending whistle let a few more loose to skid softly on the bulkhead, their sounds muffled by the venting exhaust port that needed to be cleaned. And behind that the sounds of static and snippets of conversation on an open comm. 

“... miss you too, Mommy...”

“You know I'll be there as soon as I can. This thing has to get gas first, babe...”

“...and I was shocked. I never would have expected that from Spock.”

The tins clattered to the ground as the mountain crumbled and the burly Vulcan underneath rose. Stumbling over to the comms he fell into the chair and in seconds was bent over the console. 

He sat at the helm of his small ship, where he had left his comms open and his ciphering bots running. In this part of space most of the people he encountered had unique telepathic defenses. If he saw a woman who struck his interest, she probably had an unseen telepathic bodyguard somewhere, a beacon usually, and he avoided beacons where he could. Add to that the fact that most of the ancient Vulcan refugees that settled this part of space were either born handicapped or deliberately telepathically crippled by monks and priestesses to enable their initial escape. That extreme lack of ability created a natural shielding that felt to him like burrowing through kal-va-tau, or as his mother would say, “like talking to someone with cotton in their ears.”

He closed his eyes, grieving again for the loss of his mother's life. His connection to her had been severed long ago, and hearing about it over the Federation newsfeeds had been an unexpected blow. 

He breathed slowly and calmed himself the way his tutors as a child in the House of Surak had taught him. Then, opening them, he went back to his communications console, working to reconnect to the thread of conversation he'd picked up on before. 

It was much safer to listen in on hacked comms signals than it was to snatch stray thoughts.

At his manipulations, one voice rose over the static and clamor.

“He growled? Like... growled? How is that a thing?” A second voice joined in, both female and both speaking in one of the ancient Vulcan dialects favored by Nomads raised in space. 

“Oh no, I know what you mean! It's weird! But, I'm not gonna lie. When it happened it was combustible, krei, totally explosive.”

“But really, what's that like? I mean, he's a Follower of Surak and a desert dweller.”

There was some static, and he missed some of what was said next. 

“...the desert aristocrat. And sometimes it's annoying. Really, all the time. But he's nice, in a weird way.”

“How do you know that, like, there isn't some spy mission secret agent thing going on? I mean like, he's been ordered to get close to you and learn all the secrets of your people...”

And then there was laughter. Loud, boisterous, unapologetic laughter. 

“Why did you trail off into that weird voice? And what 'secrets of our people'?”

Sybok got up and stumbled around, turning up the volume so he could continue to monitor the conversation as he poured cold water on his head and face. 

Looking around the room, he had to admit his ship was a disaster. Designed for one or two people to live in for long trips in deep space, it looked more like it housed one teenager who'd invited a gaggle more over for a party. There were ale tins and ash trays and stickystick butts all over the place. 

Listening to things he shouldn't was how he'd gotten out here in the first place...

...

T'Kaida laughed, her voice still unsure, unused to being used in that manner. Sybok smiled in response, and in contrast the smile that crept over his face was certain, the muscles well-used to such manipulations. 

He stroked her fingers then, and learned several things: 1) She would never have laughed on her own. Not in her entire life. 2) His smile was a significant motivator, and her interpretation of the situation was that he smiled in response to the sound of her laugh, as if he were moved. 3) She had no idea that he touched her fingers to get a sense of her attitude. She was sure it was because of a spark of sexual attraction between them. 

He sent a spark across their fingers. He was not a man to miss an opportunity. 

Her head turned and she snatched her fingers away. Before he could wonder what she heard, he heard it too. His mother was home. 

“You need not be so guarded,” he told her casually, “for my mother is human, and her hearing is not so acute as ours.”

“Is that really true?” T'Kaida questioned, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “They say so many things about her, I feel as though they all cannot be factual.” 

He smiled again. If she were to be his for any length of time, he would need to reinforce this attitude. She should think well of his mother, and not sink into xenophobic gossip. Then, unexpectedly, his mother's footsteps stopped at his door. 

She rapped, hitting the door in a place where the metal was hollow, and allowed for sound to resonate through to the other side. Before his guest could ask, he explained. 

“She is knocking. It is a human way of respecting privacy.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She was nodding seriously, and he knew that she was a sincere advocate for privacy from her class papers and participation in group discussions. 

“Yes, Ma,” he said, allowing her the human convention she craved by shortening M'aih to make it sound like a more emotional greeting. 

The door opened and as she came in Amanda ducked her head. He was well-pleased that this appellation was still so effective. 

And then she looked up and saw T'Kaida, and her features relaxed into a more dispassionate look. He knew after many years that she did this as a courtesy for the Vulcans around her, to spare them her emotions. 

“T'Kaida, it is time to go home.”

“Yes, Sybok'ma M'aih,” she replied, and Sybok nodded to her in approval. In the absence of a proper title like T'Amanda, addressing her as Sybok's mother maintained respect. Calling her Amanda would imply offense, because of its implications. 

“May I walk her out?” he asked and Amanda nodded. 

“Of course. When you are on your way back, go by the kitchen garden and pull me some mah'ta and plomeek for dinner.”

“Yes, Ma.” 

He walked T'Kaida to the door and then detoured to the kitchen gardens, grabbing a basket and quickly pulling enough mah'ta and plomeek for the four of them. When he got to the kitchen, Amanda was boiling yartik and putting out the cutting boards. 

“Start cleaning the plomeek,” she said, head turned over her shoulder. Shedding his robes and hanging them on the hook by the kitchen door he walked to the counter. Next to him, she took up the knife and began to shred the mah'ta. 

“We need to have a talk, my son,” she started, looking over at him. He had just begun to notice her pattern of engaging him in a task before starting a difficult conversation. Mentally, he ran through the last three days of interactions with her, and then widened his thoughts to things she might have heard about from his teachers. 

“On what subject?” He continued on the plomeek, sectioning off the thick, woody vegetable for easier dicing. She nodded, a behavior he noted came before her saying or doing something unpleasant to her. 

“On how you are going to cope with the loss of T'Kaida.” He was now dicing, and her words interrupted his rhythm. 

“Loss?” 

“When I tell your father what I witnessed tonight, he will tell her parents. And as this is a connection the two of you have chosen to pursue---as opposed to a match made by them and us---they will not hesitate to end it.”

“Perhaps they do not have the power to end it.” He jutted out his chin and his voice held a petulant undertone.

“Then your father will.” Sybok had nothing to say to that. His father was the only person he had encountered so far in his short life who was impenetrable. 

Sybok was the son of the Priestess T'Rea, and like all priestesses she rose to her position through the use of her telepathic skills. He was born with innate abilities in this area, and his early childhood rearing in the temple meant that he was both classically trained in telepathic skills from birth and surrounded by people who could maintain powerful shields indefinitely. 

When she died, Sarek was given custody almost immediately. The other priestesses had never fully embraced a child in the temple and were ready to have their adult space back. And there was the matter of his unique early education. Sarek was one of the few that could handle a child with both innate telepathic resonance and training in the mental disciplines. 

None of his other options for parents had shields like Sarek's. 

At first, there were accidents. Sybok would test his limits, slipping into the mind of an animal they encountered on a hike, or a peer at school, or a teacher. Each time these were forgiven, because each time Sarek respected his privacy. 

Had his father meditated on these errors with him, he would have known his son was not slipping, but spying. 

What was the animal thinking when he saw him, his brother, and his father on the Forge? Were the three boys in his class sincere when they said they wanted him in their study group? Did the teacher suspect anything?

But now there was a witness. 

“Why would he do that, M'aih? We are compatible.” He immediately regretted the slip. Going back to her full parental title would make it obvious that he was off put by her words so far. 

“He would do that because your actions show that you are not ready to have a mate.”

“How so?” He was surprised by her words, but kept her talking. He needed to know what she saw, and how she saw it. 

“I saw you touch fingers with her. She felt surprised, pleased, and embarrassed while you were feeling curious, proud, and determined. Her reactions were unintentional but yours were calculated.”

His mother was not a telepath, but made up for it with a skill set that included reading the facial musculature of many different Federation species, interpreting tone of voice, and understanding body language. 

“How did you witness this?” He continued to dice, mind racing to answer before her. 

“I put cameras in your room and watched.” The knife dropped to the cutting board and he looked up in shock. 

“That is a violation of my privacy.”

“And you violated hers when you touched her fingers to gain access to her thoughts and feelings.”

He was caught, and he had turned to stare at her so now they were eye-to-eye. And then another thought occurred to him. 

“You did not record us. That would be a gross violation of my---”

“---No no no. I didn't need to. I---”

It was already too late. He did not need to grab his mother and touch her psi points, but he did anyway. He was taller than she was, and they had been chopping side-by-side. 

Normally it would be impossible to dive into Amanda Grayson Sarek's mind. Her husband's shields were powerful and had always been that way. This was one of the reasons he had been first paired with T'Rea, because he could at least defend himself from her. As children, he could hold her back from violating the privacy of others when her controls were weak. 

But as their son, Sybok had a direct pathway to Amanda's mind. And if Sarek felt it, he would assume something bad had happened, causing his son to turn for comfort to his mother. 

When he was done, they finished chopping in silence. Sybok started humming a tune, which Amanda picked up, so that the kitchen was filled with music when Sarek came home with Spock. They had dinner and then he and his brother retired for the evening. 

Three days later he was informed he would be leaving...

...

Sybok cast his memory aside and leaned in towards the speaker. The Nomad Nekae was telling her krie, a navigator named Sabbas, about being trapped on Organia with Spock. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

It was four hours into gamma shift, and on nights like this---when he was not in the middle of an emergency, or socializing with the Captain and perhaps the Doctor, or recovering from those activities---he meditated on his mother by using the harvest from her “care package” plants to cook a meal as she would have. 

Instead, he was eating the colorful marshmallow fruits filled with vitamins that came from the replicator while his character sat in a Cosmobar on Ketarai Menal hitting alternating keystrokes to maintain his focus on his mental shields, which he stretched across the bar to cover his Navigator. 

Ketarai Menal was a spacestation in the Orca Corridor, which Nekae called the Seas of the Oasis. All of the locations in the game were real, which was logical; it turned gaming into a geography lesson for Nomads. 

The alternating keystrokes also had a logical basis. His actions were triggered by vibrating pulses send to his controller, where variations in intensity determined which keys to press. The combination of muscular actions in response to tactile stimuli simulated the shielding techniques he had been taught in real life. 

In this game, his character tutored with a Disciple who taught him new Beacon skills. His Navigator introduced him to the Disciple, and was on the look out for these monk tutors on every spacestation, ship, and planet they visited. 

“You are exceptionally focused tonight Bondmate. You've already taken down three telepathic attacks against me. Good job!” Nekae's voice came through the headphones she had sent him a replicator pattern for as her character continued to chat up another Cosmobar patron. This time it was a diminutive Nomad child. On Ketarai Menal children felt safe to go anywhere, anytime and were just as likely to show up in a bar as they were to be anywhere else. 

“Surely you know that the danger is past, and you no longer need to call me by that appellation.” Spock said this lightly, using his chopsticks to pluck a puffy, pink fruit from his bowl. 

On the screen he watched as the conversation with the girl character ended and she walked away. On the line, Nekae huffed out a breath. 

“Surely you remember that there was actually no real danger, as I told you,” she replied, her voice mirroring that lightness, but with an edge underneath. He nodded in agreement to her statement, and watched as she toggled the screens so their video chat window was large and the game was small. 

“I'm doing you a favor you know. You could at least play along and help me help you.” Her tone was dry, like it was a joke. Her eyes watched his actions though, in a way he did not quite understand. They were not enemies. 

“And what favor might that be?”

“I'm helping you to better follow the teachings of Surak.”

If he had been a human man he might have dropped the controller. As a Vulcan male he permitted himself a mild facial gesture, the raising of his eyebrows. 

“Oh, you don't believe me?” Nekae tossed the controller beside her, propped her feet up on the table in front of her and leaned back. Her body language was indignant and challenging, and while she grinned her eyes also gleamed. 

“I do not disbelieve you, “ he granted her, “but I do not understand your hypothesis.”

“Would you like me to explain?”

“Certainly.”

He realized in that moment that she had anticipated this conversation. She leaned in as if to punctuate her next words by pouncing on the screen.

“You're use of bondmate in relation to me was, at worst, a lie. And Surak's philosophy only barely allows for exceptions, and only in dire need. And as I told you there was none, you cannot say you had not been made aware.”

He was always uncomfortable with critiques of his ethics. On the Enterprise, his morality was acknowledged and appreciated. To the Nomad, he was practically amoral. 

“All of these things are fact.” He kept his statements short, holding his reactions in by leashing his emotions.

“But everything in the past is open to change. That's why it is in the past, a border between what was before and what is now.”

And now she was talking like Lethe McGhee and the other followers of Dr. Sevrin. 

“Tell the truth now! You lied on Organia because it was easier that telling the truth and had a more predictable outcome than staying silent and allowing them to play out their assumptions.”

He thought through it before answering. In truth, the motivations behind his actions were more complex than that, but as he had not entirely unpacked them yet he felt justified in not mentioning additional motives. 

“Granted.”

“So now, the best way to keep this incident on your mind and and make lying less likely to happen in the future is to meditate on it.”

“That is true...” he allowed. 

“My continued use keeps it on your mind, and likely causes that very reaction, does it not?”

“The details of one's meditations are considered private,” he responded immediately. She just stared at him for a few moments before continuing. 

“Alright, then consider this: Words are malleable, and it is possible that you could use the word bondmate in relation to me in a way that was not lying.” 

This new line of reasoning peaked his interest.

“How so?”

“By using this as your appellation,” she said, making a mock proper voice as she mirrored his word choice, “I'm reclaiming the word, using it in a different way and creating a new definition for it.”

His chin dropped and his eyes narrowed as he walked though her logic. She claimed to be helping him on his path to adhere to the ethics of Surak by reflecting back on a past lie he told, and somehow changing the meaning of the words he used to cast the past in a different light.

“Appellation is just a fancy way to say nickname. And anything can be a nickname, any word at all. Plus, people often give each other nicknames after combat, imprisonment, and other traumatic situations.”

“You posit that, by making bondmate my nickname, you are creating a way for our past interaction to be more honest while helping me be more truthful in the future with constant reminders and prompts for meditation.”

“That's right.”

He sat with that for a moment, still thinking it through, following the chains of logic to their reasonable conclusions. 

“I find no fault with your logic in this instance.” Spock made this pronouncement calmly, and Nekae laughed, taking another drag from her vaporizer. 

“Good, then let's get back to the game!” She toggled the screens back and approached another character, starting to talk to them as his character watched from a safe distance. “We've got to get someone to share their destiny or we'll never move forward. 

He leaned in, attention back on the task at hand. After several long conversations and hours of gameplay, they were finally getting to what he wanted to know.


	7. Chapter 7

Spock sat at his asenoi and schooled his body's reactions. His heart rate was elevated, breathing accelerated, adrenaline still affecting his involuntary nervous system. He began by listing the concerns of the day that required meditation:

_1\. The condition of Starfleet_

_2\. The strategy of Nekae_

_3\. The status of his mission_

His concerns ordered, he turned next to his descent. To calm himself and sink down into a deep meditative state, Spock would replay a memory from the day. He was eidetic, as all of his kind were, and recalling a memory would invoke the same physical responses in him as he had experienced at that time.

_He watched his Captain, sitting on the biobed and across the chess board from him. Kirk was still in Sickbay, though he had gone through all of the mandated competency tests and could technically be released at any time._

_Earlier, when Spock had come by Sickbay on his way to the Science Deck, he overheard Kirk speaking with Dr. McCoy. Kirk was agitated at his confinement in Sickbay, but the Doctor made it clear that he would not release the Captain until he was completely satisfied at Kirk's mental and emotional competence._

_Spock's experience with human passions roused in argument helped him avoid stepping into a conflict he could not resolve. Instead, he returned as his shift ended with the chessboard. He thought to both calm Kirk down and provide enough of an assessment to satisfy McCoy. Spock made sure to pass the Doctor on the way in, and after sharing a look he watched McCoy rise from the lab station and head for his office._

_From the Chief Medical Officer’s workstation he could access the security feeds for the Medical Section. Spock had no doubt the Doctor was watching._

“ _Stop that,” Kirk said offhandedly as he moved his knight. Spock raised an eyebrow but kept his focus on the game. His Captain was a skilled chess player, but helping to liberate him from Sickbay did not mean he had to lose a game as well._

“ _Your request is imprecise, Captain,” he said, moving a pawn on a lower level._

“ _This is just supposed to be a game, Spock. So stop watching me like you're waiting for me to flip out or burst into tears.” Kirk's voice was anything but offhand now, and Spock marveled at how the human could pivot so quickly from casual conversation to direct conflict. He nodded his head once in response._

“ _My apologies, Captain,” he said, moving again, this time bringing a bishop up a level to challenge Kirk's queen. He waited until Kirk was clearly thinking through his next move to speak again._

“ _I had firsthand experience with the damage the Neural Neutralizer had on Dr. Van Gelder, as well as firsthand knowledge of being under a Vulcan Healer's care.”_

_Spock kept his tone neutral, but his words got a reaction. Jim Kirk's head shot up and he looked Spock in the face._

“ _Was that a joke?!” he asked, and the tension between them left as if it had never been._

“ _A joke, Captain?”_

_And with that, he released any obligation to watch Kirk himself, knowing that McCoy was also monitoring them both, and settled into the calm of a chess game with a challenging opponent._

Spock sunk into his meditation, leaving the firepot, the curtains, the incense-filled air of his quarters, and the ever-present hum of the engines behind him.

 

_1\. The condition of Starfleet_

 

Starfleet as an institution was built on the principles of peaceful exploration, but since the loss of his home planet the ratio of missions predicated on exploration to those designed to support Federation security was 2:12. This ratio was unacceptable to him on all levels. As a Vulcan, he would never have joined Starfleet under these conditions. As a citizen of the Federation, he objected strenuously to Starfleet being used in this manner. As a member of Starfleet, he objects to the internal culture change this ratio continues to cause among the rank and file.

There is also the issue of the rank and file. The battle against Nero and the Romulans from a future alternate reality resulted in a devastating loss of Starfleet ships and personnel. This has resulted in the additional loss of scientific missions, as crew on remote outposts conducting scientific experiments have moved back on to starships or into Academy classrooms.

Perhaps even more devastating, in an effort to push new recruits into space faster Starfleet Academy changed their curriculum so that it emphasized specialization. This has meant that new recruits are narrowly trained on specific functions related to starship duty and not given the well-rounded scientific education necessary to conduct scientific experiments or observe new phenomena in space.

This combination (lack of exploratory missions, a change in the internal culture of Starfleet, the outnumbering of new personnel to experienced Starfleet officers in space, and the tremendous specialization in the training of new crew) has started a shift in the ethics of the fleet.

The conflict with the Gorlans was a result of this shift. An inexperienced, new Captain trained only to lead surrounded by new, specialized staff running two exploratory missions for every twelve Federation security missions encountered a brand new race.

Starfleet was becoming a military.

He felt a deep rooted conviction to stop this. As a loyal Starfleet officer, as a Vulcan, and as a son he could not let this stand.

But none of his attempts to reverse the momentum had so far yielded sizable results.

A review of his past tactical exercises in this regard:

First, he radically reorganized his current staff, developed an aggressive recruitment strategy, and began to pouch anyone and everyone with experience for Enterprise. He did not take personnel from other ships, or from the Academy. Instead, he asked anyone with qualifying experience who came onto the ship to stay. He prepared incentive packages and made new hire pitches to every man, woman, and genderqueering being that the ship encountered, and retained over 87% of visitors as new crew.

After that he went for the research stations, promising the staffs there that they would be engaged in genuine scientific inquiry. His counterpart, Dr. Carol Marcus, drove the point home, running the research labs through each and every disaster, skirmish, firefight, and first encounter the Enterprise had. And stacking the ship with personnel that had been removed from the fleet as a whole helped combat the culture change; a majority of ship crewmembers saw themselves as deep space scientists.

He then began networking with the First Officers of other ships and sharing his emphasis on recruitment. They used his tactics and had similar success, but the deep space outposts were quickly drained. In addition to the many ships filling their crew cabins, many had been staffed by teams that included Vulcans, and were now without them from his own planet's repatriation efforts.

This changed the cultures of 23.589% of the deep space fleet. An impact, but not sizable enough. This lack of progress forced him to consider an option that, in the recent past, he would have dismissed as unacceptable.

He mentioned his concerns to his father one night over dinner.

Traditionally Vulcans do not talk over meals. Both he and his father were used to the practice because it was normal for humans. More than normal, it was desirable, maybe even bordering on necessary. As a family, they spoke at meals, while eating. In no other public setting was talking and eating appropriate and when they dined with other Vulcans they ate wordlessly. When Spock was young and he questioned his father about it, he was told that it was something they did for his mother.

Now that she was no longer with them, they did it still. At times Sarek would be too tired to start the conversation, but Spock could tell he preferred them. He would not otherwise indulge them.

Spock shared with his father that he found himself doing more and more security missions, and he watched as Sarek pieced together what he was telling him. He knew that once his father smelled a problem with Starfleet he would chase it as any _sehlat_ chases a _ch'kariya_ to ground.

But watching his father explore the diplomatic side of the problem did nothing to relieve his concerns. It very quickly became clear that the current arrangement of Admirals was a deterrent to change, and the Admirals had figured out a way around Sarek's traditional strategy. Normally Sarek would put on pressure as a Federation Ambassador who happened to sit on the Starfleet budget and appropriations committee.

Right now no one else on the committee was willing to hear why a severely understaffed Starfleet should get less of a financial allocation.

This had become a regular topic of conversation between father and son.

His blood pressure started to dip, a biological timer he had set to give him enough time to complete his meditation.

He moved on to his next concern:

 

_2\. The strategy of Nekae_

 

She addressed him as _bondmate_. She used this appellation repeatedly, in a way that sounded genuine, and even had a thoroughly thought through, logical rationale for the practice.

She expressed concerns over his less than rigorous application of the disciplines. Called out every lie, every act of violence, every instance of casual disregard for another sentient life.

She put him in the role of a friend, playing a game where they pantomimed being companions, where that companionship included the simulation of a telepathic bond and a practical familial partnership. In a way, she used the game to extend the farce he had created when he pretended to be her bondmate on Organia, acting as though they were husband and wife, comparing their relationship with that of his parents.

She was open with him, sharing freely about her people, their defenses, their patterns. Claiming privacy an impossibility, she cared nothing about telling him how each of the classes of her people operated, including what tactics they favored. She mapped out her part of space, talking him through what it looked like to live in each part of it he came across.

All of this stood in sharp contrast to their conversations with the Nomad via subspace during their first encounters.

Those first conversations were all hostile. When she spoke to him or his father, it was to threaten them---and, by extension, all Vulcans---and even that was rare. For the most part she ignored both him and his father, focusing her attention on Kirk.

_The probability that Nekae would go from outright hostility to friendship and possible romantic attraction is less than 1.6489%_

It was far more likely that she was using common knowledge about Vulcans to build rapport with him. He had even contributed to whatever knowledge she had been able to gather from hacking subspace signals with his performance on Organia. He had taught her how Vulcan bondmates were expected to behave.

Now she used that information against him.

A bondmate would keep no secrets from him. She would share information easily and readily.

A bondmate was the closest friend an adult Vulcan would have.

A bondmade would demand and require his protection, both physically and telepathically.

A bondmate serve as his conscience, and be one of the few people in his adult life allowed to criticize his lack of adherence to the disciplines. Sharing a bond gives a mate access to thoughts, opinions, and passions no other Vulcan would know about.

And while a bondmate would not constantly refer to their mate as such, the claiming of a mate's attention was habitual, a sign of possessiveness, ownership, and belonging.

As a strategy to build rapport, Nekae's was highly successful. Already he had revealed more information about his own people that he intended. Biologically, he noticed a release of neurochemicals responsible for positive emotional states at the anticipation of their games together.

This, along with the fact that he spoke to her in her private quarters was disarming. The presence of two very charming, curious _litkas_ only furthered a sense that they were friends. Confidants.

A bonded pair.

It was important that he do things to undermine this assumption. Already he required a Healer's intervention to part him from Nyota Uhura.

_If you think of her first name, think of her last too. She is no longer yours to call by her first name. Better to call her by her last only, or her rank. Especially her rank._

On Vulcan it was said that a woman should not play servant to a man that was not hers. The result was to risk uneven attraction, which could very quickly escalate when the more amorous member of the pair was a Vulcan male.

This might not be true for the Nomads, and that would mean this Nomad did not know the ancient passions she risked raising.

On the other hand, her status as a Nomad made her likely by her very nature to be expert in building quick rapport with strangers. That skill would be essential to survive in what is, essentially, political anarchy.

He must undermine this assumption. Assert additional people into their interactions, lengthen the amount of time between their conversations, balance the cooperation of their gameplay with a pantomimed competition.

In the privacy of his meditation he could admit that he did not want to do any of those things.

Some were impossible. He had yet to identify a way to be adversarial to her in the game.

Others were impractical. These interactions were designed to build bridges between their respective peoples. Talking to her was work, and he could not deliberately shirk that duty by talking to her less.

After working so hard to get the Nomad to speak to him instead of Captain Kirk, it seemed illogical to now bring another person into their conversations.

He was at a loss for what to do next. His most viable course was to ask experienced colleagues for assistance.

Putting that concern aside as _resolved for now_ , he reset his biological alarm and turned to his final concern for tonight's meditation:

 

_3\. The status of his mission_

 

His heart rate was slightly elevated and he was breathing faster than was ideal for a deep meditative state. To recenter himself, he sunk into another memory:

_Spock relaxed his lower back muscles, his body conforming to the chair in Dr. McCoy's quarters. The environmental controls were now at levels he might set in his own quarters. The Doctor was filling glasses with lemonade and Spock felt the back of his jaw tighten at the anticipation of a familiar flavor._

_His mother had often made lemonade, lemon water, or lemon tea to go with meals and snacks. There were two lemon trees in her garden, and because of the adapted growing schedule his father had designed to keep them alive and fruiting on Vulcan they produced more than normal fruit yields._

_A glass was put in front of him, the only one of the three that was not frosted and filled with ice. He nodded at the Doctor in thanks; after working so hard to raise his internal temperature he did not want to drink anything cold, but he would also not have complained after such an effort was obviously being made to accommodate his Vulcan physiology._

“ _Would you have been able to tell if the entire memory were faked?” McCoy asked as he moved to top off the Captain's glass, “I know these Healers of yours can do some amazing things with their telepathy. Maybe that, combined with the stress from the mindsifter...”_

_The Doctor had reached an erroneous conclusion regarding Healers, which was not surprising. Vulcan culture was not precisely secretive, but it also did not lend itself to the effusive sharing Human cultures often engaged in. He would not have interrupted, but the Doctor seemed to sense he had something to say and trailed off, nodding at him._

“ _No Healer can completely manufacture memories Doctor, regardless of the state of the target's mind. Memories depend on one's unique perspective, and that's not something translated with enough accuracy in reports or logs to be fabricated. Even if the Nomads had somehow gotten access to my report, they would have had to be there to understand the detail, and even then it would have been a feat to fabricate my perspective.”_

“ _Okay, what about this,” Kirk began, sitting back and raising his hands in the very physical vocalizations that once irritated Spock, but that the Vulcan was now accustomed to, “What if he just tapped into your worst memory and somehow finished it?” Spock nodded, a behavior Lt. Uhura had encouraged him to adopt as it facilitated communication with humans, keeping the flow of dialogue smooth. He heard the Doctor take a breath, preparing to speak, and he turned his head._

“ _What kind of technology finishes memories? And where can I buy it, because I need a little more wish fulfillment in my life!” Emotional. If he waited, Kirk would respond to this._

“ _Bones, we've seen all manner of strange tech. Aliens we've never met have come leaps and bounds ahead of us technologically and many can do things that seem impossible. Just look at the Organians.” This was something Spock had himself considered._

“ _While also correct, I should point out that this explanation could also be used to prove the memory was genuine, and the precursor to an unorthodox rescue mission.” He found himself the center of attention, his two colleagues and friends focused on him._

“ _'An unorthodox rescue mission? You're talking about saving your mother!”_

“ _All the reason to look at this situation objectively---” Kirk responded, acting as a welcome shield against the Doctor's passionate nature, “---and consider the possibility that it was faked. Spock is a highly ranked Starfleet officer, and at the hands of a strong telepath could be a formidable weapon against the Federation.”_

“ _I quite agree. Even as a spy, I hold a high intelligence rating and know the details of key planetary defense systems. And, because humans often forget my hearing, all manner of personal information, much of which would be embarrassing and professionally damaging if revealed.” The Doctor made an odd, physical sound that Spock was sure it would not be polite to point out._

“ _Oh, I know. If Starfleet Medical regulations let me, I could write one hell of a book!” Aghast that the doctor had taken his words as license to break confidentiality, Spock took a verbal step back._

“ _Doctor! The revealing of knowledge gained from---” Kirk cut him off, which he was grateful for, as he had no desire to end their hospitable interaction and be forced to leave a perfectly warm room for the frigid hallway._

“ _So we've got two possibilities: Either what you saw was real, or it was fake. And if it was fake...” Wrong. There were three choices, not two, and treating this as a binary problem would only lead them down the path of faulty logic. Kirk trailed off and when Spock looked up the Captain was nodding at him._

“ _In point of fact, I believe there are three possible scenarios: Either what I saw was real, or it was fake and accidental---perhaps the combination of an unconscious mental healing, the presence of two new minds, and the damage from the mindsifter---, or it was fake and purposeful. There are compelling motivations possible around faking it for gain.”_

“ _But short of having you and Scotty using your memories to build us a mindsifter and pull in a woman connected to a Healer, we can't test that theory.” McCoy's voice was filled with irritation, and Spock was loath to remind him that a possibility, unable to be disproved, could not merely be set aside._

“ _So we can't discount it. What about a purposeful ploy. Can we prove that?” He had often wondered what his Captain's esper rating was. Looking down, Spock focused on the game that was sitting forgotten between them as he answered._

“ _We can establish a timeline with Ambassador Sarek to see whether it was possible for Nekae to know that negotiations were breaking down when she left Nomad territory and headed for Organia. We can have Intelligence look through data logs to see if there were any breaches in the communications about the negotiations and we can review the family history on Nekae available on the Nomad's social media interface to estimate the likelihood that she is a Romulan spy...”_

“ _Would she even need to be Romulan? Seems to me like her people don't like yours. Maybe she's working a Vulcan-Nomad angle?” A salient point from the Doctor._

“ _That is a possibility,” He added, watching Kirk glance at the board and then away, possibly already seeing the check in three moves._

“ _Okay, and what about the last alternative. What if it was real?” Spock remembered why he had initially considered skipping the Healer going straight to his quarters after their return to the ship. This was indeed possible, and he had not had the time to properly meditate on it. After a few moments, it became clear that the other men were waiting on him to respond._

“ _To prove that, we would need to establish that the planet in question really had waves of time displacement that caused visions of the future. But even that would not preclude the possibility that she was using this Nomad tradition for personal or collective gain. We would need to prove that she really had this vision of a woman she did not know who just happened to be important to me.”_

Recentered, Spock reflected on his mission, building a bridge with what he had learned so far that connected his memory with the present.

  1. One of Sarek's Aides had sent a message to the Federation President with the details of the negotiation with the Klingons 4.651 hours before Nekae abruptly announced that she had a “killer party” to attend and ended her last conversation with his Captain and himself. The next time they spoke was on Organia, in person. _Circumstantial_

  2. Starfleet Intelligence sent him a report 5.21 days after he made his request, and their assessment was that no communications breach had occurred. _Unknown margin of error_

  3. Enterprise Security staff briefed him 4.953 days after he made his request---but before the deadline he had initially set for them---on Nekae's family history. According to her social media page her mother, Lagassa, lived on _Suk Heya_ , a space station that, he suspected was named in reference to a sexual slang term. Her had been a Nomad, and was considered a Disciple, but her own social media page made it look as though she had fulfilled her destiny and gone into something akin to a human “retirement”. Her mother's page was filled with pictures and videos that documented Nekae's life in minute detail from birth on, and many of these pictures featured other Nomads on _Suk Heya_. _Unreliable. Mother could also be a spy. Romulans have been known to plant sleepers in civilian populations._

  4. No information on Nekae's father existed. Other mentions to family on social media were connected to the family she belonged to now, _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_. The Task Force made a distinction between biological relations and the familial relationships formed by individual Nomads. The Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ was a family-by-choice, though there were social media posts linking Nekae to at least two of the family's other members, Sabbas (a Navigator) and D'erryl (a Machinist) going back to when they were all children. _Also inconclusive. It was not abnormal in this society for children to have only one connection to a biological parent._

  5. Spock now received weekly reports from the Security, Communications, and Social Sciences Task Force that had been assembled to comb through Nomad social media and build a databank of knowledge on this new culture. From these reports he learned that all Nomads had three essential characteristics: 1) a destiny, which many learned in utero when their mothers visited what Nekae had called The Time Planet, 2) a commitment to never killing another Nomad, and 3) a commitment to protecting Nomads and the residents of the Oasis. _Inconclusive. Nekae could still be taking advantage of this tradition for personal or collective gain._




There were still many possibilities: Nekae could be a Romulan spy, either planted herself, or the daughter of a spy, or recruited later by the Empire. She could be on an intentional mission of ill-will against Vulcan, either personal or in collaboration with other members of the Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_. She could be telling the truth, and have a destiny that included catching a falling woman that his mind merged with his own memories of watching his mother fall. _Don't dwell on this._

Or she could be telling the truth, and have a destiny that included catching his mother. Were this the case, her mother would have to have taken her to The Time Planet before she was born _confirmed by social media sourcing_ , she would have shared her destiny with many other Nomads, as was their custom _confirmed by social media sources, and Nekae's own personal accounts, and by the customs reflected in their gameplay_ , and Nekae herself would have to eventually cross paths with the late Amanda Grayson Sarek _as she would have when the two of them first met on Tesnia._

None of his original pieces of information was enough to prove or disprove any of the possibilities.

His blood pressure dipped again, and he began to create his path out of deep meditation. He took the bridge he had built between the past and the present and stretched it, transforming it from a bridge into a ladder. Climbing, he rose out of the meditative state and back into his body.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Call coming through now, Captain,” Palmers said, her voice small in the speaker connected to the personal console in his quarters.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Kirk said, watching as the Starfleet blue screen turned into the waiting cue for calls to Deneva Colony. In moments, he was staring at a black cat sitting on a coffee table. When the cat saw him on the screen she meowed, and in moments was shooed away by an older version of himself.

“Jimmy! Long time no see! How's it hanging, _Captain_?” His brother Sam was always teasing him about his near impossible rise to Command. It made him feel normal and all of this feel surreal, and it was one of the reasons he didn't call his brother often.

“It's good, Sam. It's good. How's Deneva? I hear everyone there is a two parent household with kids? How's Aurelan?” His brother laughed.

“Touche! She's doing good, but still in no rush to get married. Not for my lack of asking though, let the record show that!” Then they both laughed. Jim knew he only had so long on the comms, and this was a perfect segue into what he wanted to talk about.

“Sam, when did you decide to settle down? I mean, was it about her, or you, or about this job and knowing you'd be on the colony awhile...” he trailed off as he noticed the look his brother was giving him.

“Well, you know Jimmy, we've all got to settle down eventually. Hey, what's this about?” Jim nodded, slowly. If he wanted to talk about it he would have to actually say it.

“I'm just trying to figure things out. I'm on Enterprise, and Captain, so no one here is an option,” his brother was nodding in what Jim knew was approval.

“...and Spock recruits almost every woman who comes on board, so that's out too.” His brother seemed confused about that, so he backtracked, “That's what he should be doing, too. We're having a hard time getting actual scientists out here, so everyone we come into contact with is a potential recruit.”

“Yeah, I've been hearing about that. Folks here are saying that a couple of ships are doing it, and all they've gotta do to get a job is hitch a ride home to Earth on a fleet ship.” Jim smiled at that. He knew Spock was sharing his recruiting techniques with other First Officers.

“They're probably right,” Jim said, laughing, “but that leaves women being transferred off, diplomats... and they're all problematic too.” Sam was still laughing.

“I bet! You know, most Captains aren't as young as you. I hear that for a few years they get 'ship married'..”

Jim didn't need him to explain. He'd seen Captains in love with their ships. Pike never felt that way about the ships he served on, but Jim had to admit he had a mad sort of love for the Enterprise.

“I get that. When you're out here, the ship is everything, you know?” Sam was shaking his head.

“No, man, I totally don't.” Then he watched as his brother sobered up a bit. “Listen, sometimes it is about the woman and sometimes it is just time to settle down. For you, you don't want to be going after everything that moves or you'll start to look predatory.”

He couldn't admit to his brother that he already looked that way.

“When you're trying to make a decision like this, the best thing you can do is clear your head. You know what I'm saying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Jim knew he only had a few more minutes. “So how are you bro? What's up with the new job?”

“Dude, you think your ship is crazy? Nothing is crazier than colony life.” His smile was wide and Jim knew he was gearing up for a story.

“Oh, I don't know... ship live can get pretty dramatic...”

“No, no no. Nothing like this. Check this out, a week ago a beat up shuttle crash-landed on Deneva. Now, you know how all colonies have to have at least a city-level government, right?”

“Yes...” Jim nodded, knowing a lead up when he heard one.

“...and no matter how small. So here on Deneva everyone is a scientist on the Cetralia Labs-funded project. But since all Federation governments have to have elected leadership, the people from Cetralia aren't the government leaders.”

“Wait, are you saying they're the bosses of everyone on the planet, and you are all here because of a project for their company, but they aren't in charge of the settlement?”

“Yes! I mean, no, no they are not.” He beamed at this, and Jim could tell it was a regular source of conversation for him. “So we have an elected council, but they're all deep space scientists so they are completely unequipped for any city problems. And of course, they're the ones called when anything weird happens.”

Jim was a visual guy, and he couldn't help but picture it: a gaggle of socially-awkward scientists crowded around a crashed space shuttle. It looked like the beginning of an Old Earth science fiction story.

“So what happened?” He prompted his brother to continue.

“So this shuttle crashed, and the hull is pitted with asteroids but still obviously not Federation. More like a trader ship. And all the guys are circled around it taking readings and yammering on about flight paths and trajectories when this bombshell green beauty stumbles out.”

“Wait, what?!?”

“YES! An Orion woman in torn up fatigues climbs out of the ship ranting and raving. They're calling her The Orion Officer because she's claiming to be a Starfleet officer. These poor folks though, they had no idea what to do. Now we're waiting on a Starfleet ship to pick her up and sort it out. I mean bro, can you even believe that?”

“Huh...” Jim's mind was already working on an idea that had to be crazy.

“Oh look, our time is up. And your Comms officer is a hardass for sure, so lemme let you go. Love you, bro.”

“Love you too, Sam,” Jim said, just as his brother cut the connection. The blue screen reflected on the side of his face as he turned, connecting seemingly unconnected events.

He could believe in The Orion Officer.

He longed to get Sulu on the horn and change course, full speed for Deneva, but he knew that wasn't an option. They were still getting flack about going to Tantalus, and that was after they cleaned up a giant mess and restaffed the entire colony.

He keyed up Uhura's code. She was the “hardass” but she wasn't on Comms today. This was her off shift and she was in her quarters. The call connected and her screen came up.

“Did you get the---OH! Captain. I wasn't expecting... How can I help you, Sir?” She was in an off duty t-shirt and he noticed her turning the monitor now that she knew it was him calling.

“At ease. I'm off duty too. And say hello to Martine and Hannity for me.” She looked at him for a second, as if taking this new information in, and then nodded.

“I will. What do you need, Jim?” And now, even though this is why he called, it was hard for him to bring their Orion up to her.

“Okay, so I know this sounds crazy. Know that.” Uhura laughed, her mouth stretching wide and her eyes closing as she tipped back her head.

“Oh, I'm used to you sounding crazy. Go on.”

“A shuttle crash landed on Deneva with an Orion woman claiming to be a Starfleet officer onboard.”

He didn't know what he expected her response to be, but it was not what it was. She was still for a beat and then moved back, adjusting her console so he got a wider view of the room. Martine was standing with her stylus held frozen in her hand facing a wall with star charts projected onto it. Hannity was walking in from the kitchenette, attracted by the commotion and then he saw a flash of gold. Next to Uhura stood Carol Marcus, still holding a padd and stylus.

“Pull up the trajectory we traced for Gaila's ship,” Uhura ordered Martine, who responded as if they were on the Bridge and in the middle of a crisis.

“What's going on here?” Hannity asked the group. Carol answered.

“A shuttle crashed on Deneva with an Orion woman onboard who's saying she's in Starfleet.”

“That could happen!” Martine exclaimed, the small woman with big eyes bouncing. “That's totally possible! Her shuttle was hit off its original flight plan by this phaser fire,” Martine excitedly walked them through it on the map, using her stylus and padd to draw the flight plan and illustrate the phaser fire, “and then went this way towards P'Jem. Now if it went through the asteroid belt here---”

“--the shuttle was pitted with asteroids---” Jim added and Martine nodded her head wildly in response.

“---then she could have been spit out in any of these directions! This one would lead straight to Deneva colony!”

Uhura whipped back to him like a preying mantis whipped her head around to sight her prey.

“We have to follow this. Our petition with Starfleet is just waiting, trapped in cue. And right now we have no idea which fleet vessel has been dispatched to Deneva. We need to move before they lock her up in some asylum or return her to Orion.” She was succinct and calculated, her tone one of authority. He added Uhura to the list of people would could take Command from him at a moment's notice.

“Uhura, take your Special Project Team and search the fleet manifests. A ship is on its way, if it hasn't already arrived. See who's assigned to that sector. On my authority follow this lead wherever it goes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

* * *

 

A bead of sweat made its way down Leonard McCoy's forehead, hitting his eyebrow where it was then slowly absorbed. Irritated, he mopped his face with one hand while he got together everything he'd need to make the drink such hot temps deserved. To cool off, he lifted his closed palm to his nose and sniffed.

Mint. A cool flavor, certainly, and on a ship where the air was a bit stale and everyone had a candle or wax burner or incense stick in their quarters he found the smell of something fresh---like mint leaves picked off his own stash of two mint plants in hydroponics---was a heady aroma.

He remembered that his friends were on their way, and at least one was ever so punctual. He wished for once that darned Vulcan would learn what it meant to be _fashionably late_ as he pulled his hand back and put the mint leaves at the bottoms of two glasses. Reaching forward he used a tiny spoon with _Georgia_ in fancy lettering at the bottom to spoon white sugar over the green leaves. Next was the muddler, a small stick of maple wood he used to ground the sugar into the mint.

Turning, he filled his aerator pitcher with ship's water. The pitcher bottom was old, but the aerator cap was new, a replicator pattern he'd downloaded and then printed on tin sheeting. He screwed on the top until the whole container made a sharp hiss, then turn and sprayed the glasses with bubbly water, breaking up the pulpy mint in each glass. He topped each glass with small handfuls of ice and then just a splash of bourbon whiskey.

He set the glasses in their spots alongside a pot of ginger and lemon tea. On Enterprise he'd gotten into the habit of foregoing the garnish (which was, in his mind, a waste of the mint leaves' potential) and discovered that he actually preferred it served that way.

The door chimed and he yelled, “Come in!” the same way he would've called at the door to his home in Savannah. He knew it was Spock, who moved into the seat with the hottest cup and immediately wrapped his hands around it.

McCoy had already cranked the heat up, but that was just the first adjustment. He had never forgotten the heat from that night in Spock's quarters and while part of him was riveted by his friend and colleague’s shocking confession, another part was struggling not to pass out from the blasting hot air. He knew if Spock saw him like that again, in friendly, social circumstances the Vulcan would immediately turn the heat down himself.

The green-blooded elf was considerate. And for that reason no one seemed to wonder why a man from a boiling desert was fine in the arctic cold temps of the Enterprise.

So now, McCoy took the temperature controls up in spurts, letting himself get used to it and ensuring his Vulcan guest would have no complaints.

Spock looked up from his cup. “Thank you for your hospitality, Doctor. I am glad your ginger has finally come to harvest. I know you were concerned about it.”

How long ago had he said that to Spock? Months ago? It was when he'd first planted the rhizome he'd managed to buy off a trader. Normally the growing season was 10 months, but he'd worked with Sulu to graft several plants off the first and shorten the cycle to 7 months. At some point McCoy visited his plot in Hydroponics and Spock was there, adding a sandy layer of loam to the bottom of his mix and carefully re potting his ginger above it.

In that time he'd also learned that when a Vulcan remembered details about your life, mentioned them again, helped in small ways---that these were the quiet, reserved, unemotional signs of friendship.

“I was. Seems like your tinkering did the trick. I thought you might enjoy profiting from the fruits of your industry,” the Doctor replied and watched his colleague duck his head. So many crewmen were intimidated by Spock and in moments like these McCoy could not fathom why.

Kirk let himself in and, as always, maneuvered himself into the center of things.

“Bones! Oh, mint juleps again! How did you know that was just the prescription for what ails me?” Jim was all wide, expansive gestures that he only toned down to pick up his glass and take a sip. Last time his friend noticed the lack of alcohol, but this time he seemed to take it in stride.

McCoy wondered if Jim thought that was for him, or just a change the good doctor was making in his own life. Truthfully, McCoy needed to carve out this opportunity to watch the Captain and First Officer interacting with one another, and getting Jim too liquored up would get in the way of that. Plus, the more he indulged, the more likely he was to say the wrong thing and trigger Spock's premature departure.

_Damn prickly Vulcan_ he thought and then snickered to himself. Now they were all at the table, the drinks were poured and pitchers out for refills, and the temperature controls were only two adjustments away from being Vulcan norm. Spock and Kirk were setting up the board, though of course Jim was doing several things at once.

“So I had a talk with our impromptu rescue team this afternoon,” Jim began and Spock's head shot up.

“I thought we had agreed to let them work independently, without our interference?” Spock's hands paused, something McCoy had noticed about him since they started these little “get togethers”. The Vulcan didn't like to talk---especially if the conversation had any hint of conflict---and do any other task. Kirk put his hands up defensively. 

“I know I know! But I was on a call with my brother Sam and he gave me some info I knew they could use. Did you know Dr. Marcus was working with them too?” Spock nodded, turning his attention back to the board.

_Jim doesn't want to talk about what he found out and Spock doesn't want to talk to Jim about Carol_ he thought, taking a sip of his own mint julep. These little signs---Jim changing the subject quickly and Spock disengaging from conversation---were exactly what he was looking for. He knew eventually the two of them would have to have a talk about Jim and women, but he was hoping that by then this would be the place they wanted to have it. Their personal ethical systems diverged a little too widely on the issue of women, and he thought that, when the time came, they might need a moderator.

“Can't Uhura have a project you don't stick your nose in, Jim? Jeez, sometimes I wonder what manners they even teach kids from Iowa,” McCoy stepped in, getting comfortable and sipping on his own drink. “Now Spock, know that if Jim was from Georgia, like me, he would have learned more about both privacy and restraint.”

“Indeed?” He had Spock's attention now, but the Vulcan's hands were still engaged in adjusting pieces and sipping his tea---all signs that he was relaxed and engaged in more casual conversation. “I had no idea your behavior was the result of an upbringing that included training on such disciplines. From what I observed, it seemed to be more trail and error.”

And the eyebrow was up. McCoy mentally patted himself on the back for getting the Vulcan to crack a joke, while loading up the appropriate response.

“Hey now!” the Doctor groused in response to the jibe.

The conversation quieted down and the game began in earnest. For the first few moves no one spoke, a habit the two of them had with these games before the Doctor inserted himself as a third wheel.

_I really should have given Jim more credit_ he thought. He'd assumed Jim would make all sorts of social mistakes with Spock, but he should have remembered that when Jim Kirk had someone in his sights, he did whatever was necessary to befriend them.

“So,” Kirk began again, moving a piece and then distancing himself from the move by leaning back in his chair, “are you still worried about Stratos?”

Spock tilted his head to the side as he considered his next move. “Worried is a human emotional state, but I am still concerned.”

The Doctor reviewed what he knew about Stratos. It was the capital city on Ardana, their next destination, a Federation member world renowned for its contributions to intergalactic arts and seen as a center for culture and commerce. The planet itself was a barren waste, a toxic desert filled with mineral-rich mines. The residents were split into two groups: the Troglytes, who lived on the surface in the mines and the Advisers, who lived in the “cloud cities”, enormous floating platforms spanning hundreds of square miles.

Spock's concern wasn't Stratos itself, but its court. Ardana was the closest Federation member world to Trilan, a former Vulcan colony world which was now the home of New Vulcan. And as neighbors, they were seeking to cement their relationship with the Vulcans the old fashioned way.

“Perhaps,” Spock spoke slowly, making his next move and then letting his hands rest in his lap, “you could assist me in appealing to the High Adviser’s daughter, Droxine.”

McCoy coughed, water and a tiny bit of whiskey going down the wrong way. He knew Spock was trying to make concessions in the face of Jim's rather aggressive womanizing, but straight up asking their friend to hit on a foreign dignitary was still a little shocking.

The Doctor was even more shocked by Kirk's response. Instead of a big smile and a clap on the back, Jim looked almost scared, like a deer in headlights.

“Uh, well, you know Spock normally I would love to... I mean,” Jim verbally stumbled, the game momentarily forgotten as he half laughed-half sighed, “I mean, she's definitely my type. But I don't make a habit of inserting myself when the lady's attentions are obviously elsewhere.”

McCoy had to laugh then, and the look Spock gave Jim made it clear that he agreed that the truth was exactly the opposite.

“I mean, I'm trying to get better about that. Actually,” he straightened a little, “I've decided to take a bit of an old fashioned Southern American abstinence.”

Spock looked to him for clarification, but all McCoy could do was whistle. “Really? Well, good luck with that!” He turned to Spock. “I guess you are out of luck. Have you considered taking a date?”

The Vulcan was obviously on the spot. While, on one hand, he had to be a little relieved that Jim had come to the conclusion that he should slow down with the ladies, on the other, it could not come at a worse time. The High Adviser of Ardana's planet council, Plasus, had already hinted to Sarek that his son would make a good match for Plasus's daughter. And their next mission was a party, a diplomatic affair that the Vulcan delegation would be attending along with the Enterprise. If Spock came alone, without a plan he would almost certainly be the target of a night's worth of “alliance building”.

McCoy watched as Kirk made a move that, from Spock's subdued but still readable reaction, was a surprise.

“How are your negotiations with the Nomad coming?” Kirk said, abruptly changing the conversation right as Spock was probably rethinking his logical strategy.

“Well,” Spock began, slowly, contemplating a move and then deciding to give the game a rest for a few minutes, “perhaps too well. I was going to seek your counsel on the subject.”

Ever precise, Spock made sure to look over at McCoy when he said “your”. The Doctor wondered if other crewmen appreciated just how precise and explicit Spock was.

“This sounds interesting...” the Doctor said, jumping up to inch the temperature controls up another notch. _Just one more_ he told himself, adjusting again to the even hotter air blasting through the vents.

“I'm intrigued. What's she doing now?” Kirk pulled Spock's attention away from the Doctor just in time to distract from his discomfort.

“Nekae's skills at building rapport vastly exceed my own, and I am at a loss as to how to appropriately respond to her tactics.” It took a minute for him to digest that, translating it from Vulcan parlance to a more common vernacular. Jim got it first.

“She's hitting on you!” Jim was ecstatic, game forgotten, arms out and wildly gesticulating, “She's hitting on you like on Organia and I bet it is getting under your skin...”

“Agreed.” Spock didn't even try to argue, and looked more than a little relieved at being understood. “As a Nomad, she is accustomed to meeting and quickly cementing alliances with Vulcanoid strangers. That skill set, combined with the ruse I employed on Organia, has made our interactions... unbalanced.”

They'd talked about that _ruse_ the night after the two of them had beamed back up from the planet.

“You know,” the Doctor jumped in, placing fresh glasses with mint juleps in front of his chair and Kirk's and then moving to refill Spock's tea cup, “you might be able to kill two birds with one stone here.”

“That is a great idea, Bones. A fantastic idea.” Jim was smiling wide, and McCoy knew he was eating all of this up. “Don't you think, Spock?”

Spock looked lost, so McCoy laid his idea out sans violent Terran metaphor.

“You've got the problem of this party, which you can't attend alone without it seeming like you are making a diplomatic statement, but you also can't ask anyone from the ship to accompany you without skirting the edges of impropriety.”

Spock was nodding, and seemed to be following along, so the Doctor continued.

“And you've also got Nekae, who took your 'playing house' on Organia and ran with it to keep you off balance.”

“Yes, but I don't see how those two problems could possibly be connected, Doctor.” Spock was honestly confused, and he shared a look with Jim, tickled beyond measure.

“Wait for it, Bones. He'll get it.” Jim said, leaning back in his chair. McCoy obliged, taking a sip of his drink and giving the idea time to expand in the air between them.

“You want me,” Spock started again, speaking slowly, his brows drawn together, “to invite Nekae to the diplomatic event on Ardana?”

“Bingo!”

“Ha HA!” He shared a celebratory laugh with Jim as their Vulcan friend still struggled to process through the idea.

“But the rapport building is a problem. Reinforcing it would seem to only make it worse...”

“No no, you've got it all wrong,” Jim broke in, “...unless you think she's serious. I mean, do you think there is a chance the way she is acting is actually some change of heart, or anything other than just a way to disarm you in your conversations?”

“No. It is highly unlikely she has truly changed her personal beliefs about Vulcans from one in-person interaction. Her actions in this regard are almost certainly designed to lower my inhibitions, and perhaps even to get me to reveal sensitive information about Starfleet or New Vulcan.”

“Alright then,” the Doctor jumped back in, “in that case the best thing you can do is fight fire with fire.”

“'Fight fire with fire'...?” Spock repeated, as if it were the most alien phrase in the world.

“Call her bluff,” Kirk clarified just as McCoy's desk comm chimed.

“Of all the worst times to...” he grumbled, pulling himself up and over to his desk while Jim and Spock continued talking through their brilliant plan. He hit the comm button a little harder than he had intended.

“McCoy here, What'dya want?” He found himself face-to-face with Palmers.

“Sir, we're getting a call from Risa...” McCoy's ears perked up, only to have his hopes dashed by her next words, “...It's Ambassador Selek. He asked for Kirk and then for you and when I told him you were both off duty he asked me to comm you in your quarters.”

That damn meddlesome Vulcan was dramatically worse in stereo.

“Patch him through,” the Doctor said, bringing up his console and projecting the image up on the wall as if it were a movie he was about to kick back and watch. Spock stood as well, and when McCoy turned around he saw Jim rise with a confused look.

“Doctor.” Selek said a beat after he came on screen. Then his eyes moved around the room. “Captain, Commander.” He met each one's eyes and nodded.

“Spock! How the hell are you?!” Kirk strode forward, face lit up and arms open. This didn't surprise McCoy at all. Jim told him about the alternate reality Spock the moment they were alone and the three of them had talked about him sitting around his table more than once.

“I am well, Captain.” What interested the Doctor was how much affection this version of Spock showed in return, just in his eyes.

He would love to know whether he was that revealing when he was younger and served on his version of Enterprise, and this was just one of the many differences of their two realities or if he'd grown more relaxed over time.

“And I am glad you are all here. It saves the time it would take to gather you.”

“What's wrong?” Kirk started.

“Has harm come to the diplomatic party in the Seas of the Oasis?” Spock stepped forward as well, and something about the way he crossed over to Jim made the Doctor think he didn't quite trust the Captain to lead this conversation.

_Probably because Jim acts like this other Spock is his lost BFF_ McCoy thought. He was concerned too, because the truth is Jim really did not know this person. And medical science was still fuzzy on the long term effects of those Vulcan mind melds on human brains.

“No. I'm calling about the Gorlans.”

That was out of left field. He know about the Gorlan situation---he couldn't imagine there was a Fleet person anywhere who hadn't heard about it by now---but it was the last thing he thought Other Spock was gonna bring up.

Spock, bless him, asked a clarifying question and gave him some time to fix his face and cover the surprise. “Are you recent referring to the actions taken by the U.S.S. Tompkins against the Gorlan home planet and colonies?”

“I am.”

“-I thought you vowed never to interfere in this time and the way events here unfold?” The Vulcan's rapid response turned his head. He hadn't quite interrupted his counterpart, but his words were right on Other Spock's heels. The elder Vulcan tilted his head to one side.

“I am not calling you to counsel you to take action against Starfleet,” the Other Spock responded, “no matter how illogical or devastating the actions of one ship are.” This seemed to satisfy Spock's concern and he stepped back.

A strange feeling crept up McCoy's back, along his spine. His shoulders picked up as goosebumps crossed the back of his neck. He was in a conversation with _two Spocks_.

“Did you call to see what state our ethics were in?” Kirk asked, and McCoy was reminded of the Security footage from the Bridge he'd reviewed before briefing Kirk for the first time after the death of Admiral Marcus.

“ _Well that's why you're here, isn't it?” Kirk said, face almost innocent but for his calm, calculating eyes, “To assist with our repairs?”_

“No, Jim. I'm calling because I believe we may have a problem that, if it remains unsolved could threaten the very fabric of this existence.”

_Maybe he's more of an exaggerator in his older age too_ the Doctor thought to himself.

“Explain.” Spock demanded. His counterpart needed no further invitation.

“Certainly. In the reality I am from, nothing like the Gorlan conflict ever happened. The Gorlans were discovered peacefully, requested they be left alone, and then stayed in a relatively small sector of space.”

“--It is an error in logic to think that your reality's history would have any bearing on ours.” Spock followed right up on his again, this time breaking in where the Doctor thought Other Spock was going to continue speaking. The older Vulcan nodded his head again.

“That is so. A comparison is not logical or valuable. Events in this universe unfold as they should, in relation to events that have already occurred. I bring this up to say that this event did not merely not happen in my time, but it was improbable. The events surrounding it did not exist, and the very nature of Starfleet was different.”

“Well of course it was!” McCoy was jumping in before he could stop himself. “In your reality over 70% of the fleet hadn't been wiped out and there wasn't the struggle to rebuild!” He turned fast and almost hit Spock, who was now at his back.

“Exactly. That said, to my knowledge the Gorlan conflict with the Federation did occur and, when it did it was managed by Starfleet in a fashion that mirrored what is happening here and now.”

“Wait...” the doctor jumped in again, “So did it happen where you're from, or didn't it?”

“It did not happen _when I'm from_ ,” Other Spock said, emphasizing his last words, “but it did happen.”

“Your phrasing implies that the events occurred on another, separate and third different universe in addition to occurring in our own,” Spock said smoothly, as if that were the most normal conclusion in the world to draw.

“Yes. In my time a Starfleet team got a glimpse of another reality, one that ran parallel to our own. In that reality Starfleet was a military organization that conquered for profit and life in the Federation was much more violent.”

“And in that reality the Gorlans lost their lives in an altercation with a Starfleet vessel.” Kirk said, almost like he was completing the other man's sentence.

“It was one in a chain of events that my time's officers used to establish that the universe they were in was not merely divergent, but was in fact parallel. Parallel,” Other Spock repeated for emphasis and paused for meaning, “as my reality was parallel with this one.”

“More than parallel. Before the events with the U.S.S. Kelvin the realities were the same. That was where they diverged.” Now McCoy watched as both Spock and Kirk were thinking on this, trying to reason it through.

“Are you,” Spock began, this time responding after a beat, “hypothesizing that this third reality, in the absence of yours, is now parallel to ours?”

“I am. And this chain of events must be stopped if this reality is to remain a peaceful one. While the events are not explicitly connected and this reality has completely different past circumstances dictating its future, the Enterprise is here, now, with the nearly the same crew complement as my Enterprise had. Every day that becomes more true. Every person you have recruited so far was a staff member on my ship.”

Spock raised an eyebrow in response but said nothing. TThe Doctor was frankly spooked by the eerie coincidence.

“All of the other Captains and First Officers that have gotten ships recently were Captains and First Officers in my time.”

He definitely had everyone's attention now.

“The first action I have seen that looks out of place is this one, the hostilities with the Gorlans, and if the Mirror Universe's sequence of events holds, I can predict the next event that could either bring this universe more in line with my time, or its violent mirror.”

“Telling us what will happen next is precisely the thing you vowed not to do, even if in this instance your motivation is different from what you predicted it would be.” McCoy looked over at his Vulcan colleague and friends and wondered if he was imagining the lack of tension. These accusations were contentious before, but Spock now seemed like he was going along with his counterpart's logic.

“But now you think you can steer Starfleet away from becoming an oppressive military organization and towards the scientific exploration it was known for in your reality.” Kirk pulled everything back together.

A noise off screen made Selek turn. When he turned back his gaze was intense.

“Vega Nine.”

“Are you asking us to go there?” Kirk asked, and the Doctor didn't like his tone. He was asking a Vulcan diplomat, not his First Officer. _Does Jim know the difference?_

“I am not advising you to break regulation. But if the colony is threatened, we should speak again.” Selek looked off camera again. “I must go. Be careful.”

At those ominous words the connection was cut, and the three men were left staring at the bulkhead.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Outside the door his words were muffled, but still discernable.

“Next item, Starship Morale Efforts.”

“It’s 4 now. Shouldn’t we--?”

“No,” and this was the voice of Admiral Stoddard, “we have time and this is important. Kiotha, is Ambassador Endilev here yet?” This was said through a comm and his words were broadcast to another room. It was far away, but even through the walls he could hear the reverberation and response. 

“No, Sir,” a female voice replied.

Sarek stood at the door, not hiding but also not seeking out anyone’s attention. He was always on time, a fact which Admiral Stoddard knew well. Endilev had learned long ago about the punctuality of humans and was usually a few minutes late.

“Go on,” Stoddard said and a woman who sounded human and his age peer responded.

“The Morale Initiatives we launched have officially reached every ship in the fleet, which is a success of sorts. That said, they are not going as we expected, and I think one is at a point where we need to end it. Perhaps both.”

“That sounds a little ‘doom and gloom’ for a morale experiment, doesn’t it?” Another human male responded.

“Go on,” Stoddard repeated.

“All of our ships and starbases have engaged in the uniform contest. Enterprise was the last hold out, but now they have entered a design team too and we are waiting on submissions. However, if you’ll look at your padds I’ll walk you through some of the more notable submissions we have received so far.”

There was a brief moment before the officers in the room began to respond.

“Oh!”

“Uh, is this really…?”

“That’s unfortunate. That’s just really unfortunate.”

“As you can see, some of the entries were particularly inappropriate,” the officer presenting continued.

“Yeah, we already get enough critique about our standard women’s uniforms without turning them into two pieces.”

There was a gasp of nervous laughter from several individuals in the room.

“I think,” she plowed on, “this reflects the culture of throwback sexism that is emerging on a few specific starships. At any rate, I think we should stop this now, before Phase 2, where ships were supposed to allow their crew the option to wear their submission uniforms on ship.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed!”

“Do it.” Admiral Stoddard ordered. “There was one additional agenda item under morale…”

“Yes, Sir, and I think it is important that we see them as connected. As you know, we had also turned over insignia design to the Communications personnel of each ship and starbase. Currently all starships and starbases have their own insignia, often created by the Admiral over that sector and their staff.”

“Wait a minute,” another human male interrupted, “please don’t tell me the insignia are getting racy too!”

Sarek thought this might have been intended as a joke, but her response was not reflective of any humor.

“Worse. If you’ll look at the infographic I’ve sent to your padds… this is to help you understand where we were and how we’ve gotten to where we are…”

There was a pause as people undoubtedly were pulling something up on their electronic devices.

“At first, at any given time there were between 40 and 75 different insignia under the Starfleet banner. After the Battle for Vulcan, that number was reduced to 32. That number stayed steady despite our adding new ships to the fleet as some of the deep space stations were drained of personnel and closed.”

“—brilliant move, there” someone began to say, sounding genuine at the same time as someone else grumbled---

“---boneheaded move if I ever…”

Stoddard cleared his throat and there was silence.

“As I was saying. To save the Admirals some time, instead of having their departments design new insignia, we gave that duty to the Communications departments on starships. In 2258, here are the insignia of Starfleet. Now as we move forward year after year, you see the change when we first shifted responsibility of the insignia over earlier this year. Now watch.”

“Wait, I thought they were supposed to design their own?” someone asked, this time perhaps a human woman.

“That was the intention, but it wasn’t a rule that they had to use an original design. Internally we thought some of them would adopt the insignia of ships that fell at Vulcan. Now there are 57 insignia, but only 17 are unique. 7 share _this_ insignia while 23 share the insignia that was originally assigned to the starship Enterprise.”

“What is this? It looks like a dagger stabbing through the planet Earth!”

“Yes, the insignia shared by 5 starships and 2 starbases was an original design. It is both too Terran-centric to be acceptable and more than a little violent.”

“What do you think is behind this situation?” Stoddard asked.

“Sir, I think there are several different factors at play. The first few ships to take Enterprise’s insignia did so as a dedication. They all had Communications staff leaving Enterprise for more senior positions on new ships and it was seen as a positive gesture by Hospitality and Morale. Over time more and more did so, and I think that was a response to the situation with the Tompkins and the Gorlans.”

Everyone in the room made some noise, whether in shifting, sighing, or expelling air from their noses and mouths. Sarek knew well how Stoddard’s staff and aides felt about the violent action between the Federation starship and a race that requested non-interference.

“Where did this dagger Earth logo come from?”

“The Tompkins,” she answered, “and very quickly the 6 other ships adopted it.”

“Wait a minute, how soon after?”

“Within a week, which to me says that there was some ship-to-ship communication going on beforehand.”

“Factions are forming. What is your recommendation for solving this situation?”

“I think we should announce a new division of Hospitality and Morale and put insignia on its list of duties, taking it back from ships.”

Sarek turned as Endilev strode in, two aides in tow. Normally Sarek would have an aide or two with him as well, but resources were spread thin.

“And dismissed.” Starfleet staff filed out of the office, nodding politely at the Amabassadorial parties. In moments the room was empty and the two diplomats took their seats. The woman on the comm from before came in soon after to lay out some hot tea and ice cold water. Endilev wasted no time in pouring himself a cold glass.

“I apologize for the delay, Ambassadors,” the Admiral said politely. Sarek nodded and Endilev’s antenna twitched.

“Admiral,” Sarek began, fixing himself some tea if only for the warmth of the ceramic cup, “as you know, Vulcan is in a time of great change, and my people are fully engaged in the work of rebuilding and adjusting to new lives. I understand being delayed by pressing matters.”

“And while they might not be capable of it, we empathize with the struggles of our Federation’s fleet.” As he spoke, the Andorian ambassador made what looked like a painful grin, exposing his yellowed teeth on the blue background of his lips in an expression that was obviously pantomimed without feeling.

“If I didn’t know better, gentlebeings, I’d think I was being buttered up for something…” Stoddard’s shoulders dropped as he spoke and he poured himself a glass of water.

“We have come to you with a proposal, one which would benefit both Vulcan and Starfleet--” Sarek started.

“—Truly, an impressive use of Federation resources and time,” Endilev finished. Stoddard threw his hands up.

“I know when I’ve been outgunned. And I’m sure you have a presentation all loaded up, so go ahead.”

Sarek nodded, aiming his handheld at the office’s computer, which brought up a white screen and then an infographic.

Endilev began.

“Vulcans have almost completed their migration to New Vulcan, with over 89% of them now on planet. Now they are tasked with building the wind turbines, sand granulators, and solar panels necessary to power the globe, and this means spreading out all over the planet’s surface.”

As he spoke, Sarek controlled the graphic, moving from screen-to-screen in time with the Andorian’s words.

“But the Vulcan population is low, and their primary concern as a species must be to grow. This is difficult when individuals are so spread out, working in a situation that is dramatically different from what their entire life was like before. The Vulcans need to settle into their world, and to do this New Vulcan needs an influx of engineers, terraforming experts, and scientists of all sorts.”

The Admiral was nodding at Endilev, and had to turn his head when Sarek took over the conversation.

“Starfleet is in turmoil as well. Also with dwindling numbers, Starfleet Academy has been forced to radically reorganize how it trains new cadets, and is putting beings in space on starships before they are ready. These starships are often a new race’s first encounter with the Federation.”

Stoddard was still now. Sarek was sure he was not trying to deny it, but his facial expression and body language were guarded. _Perhaps he is waiting to see where this goes._

Endilev spoke again, diffusing the tension. “The fleet needs cadets, specialized scientific training, and some reeducation in ethics. Vulcan needs more scientists on the planet doing hands-on work and a way to generate much-needed planetary revenue.”

Sarek clicked his handheld, and a set of architectural plans came on screen.

“We are proposing a second Starfleet Academy, on Vulcan.”

Sarek’s words stopped Stoddard’s heart for a moment, and his mouth fell open. The Vulcans, known all across the stars for their peaceful philosophy, were offering to train Starfleet cadets and personnel. Sarek himself had fought tooth-and-nail to keep his son out of the fleet, and now he was offering all Vulcans to its service.

“You have questions?” Endilev asked, smiling at the obvious confusion.

“Sarek, what you’re proposing… how are your people going to accept it? Starfleet training cadets on Vulcan.”

Sarek anticipated this line of questioning and had already charted the possible courses the conversation could take from here.

“Starfleet is getting violent, establishing a violent reputation in the name of the Federation, and becoming alarmingly Terran-centric. All of the budgets for recruitment were cut, and now recruitment efforts only happen on Terra and Terran colonies. Our people see teaching as a way to remind Starfleet personnel that they are members of a peaceful, ethical Federation.”

“Don’t make a mistake,” Endilev broke in, “Starfleet needs Vulcan too. The non-human members of the Federation are getting nervous. Many of us, Andorians included, have explored parts of space that the Federation has not charted and continuing down our current path of first contacts is a decidedly bad idea. Starfleet needs to show the Federation that it is an ethical fleet for protection and exploration.”

“I agree with everything you’ve said, but I know what the other Admirals are going to say. We can barely afford what we’ve got. We can’t afford to build a second school, and we don’t have the staff to run it.”

Sarek returned to his seat. He had of course worked out the details before making a proposal. He was most certainly not insulted at the Admiral’s suggestion that he would lack thoroughness.

“We will supply professors, both Vulcans and others from across the Federation. We have already rebuilt the Vulcan Science Academy, and can spare teachers, but not yet students. Starfleet new recruits can be the students, and they can use our planet’s construction efforts as hands-on learning opportunities.”

“Andoria will underwrite a fifth of the project, and I have already spoken to other Federation members who would cover the rest. And knowing that they would be learning on a Vulcan campus long ago designed to accommodate the diversity of the Federation in their hallowed halls and classrooms, Starfleet would see a boost in enrollment from non-Terrans.”

Stoddard was nodding, and Sarek knew the persuasive part of their meeting was over.

* * *

 

Spock turned on his console and send a quick comms request. In 85.66723 seconds--- _faster than their average time_ , he noted to himself---he was logging onto the gamestation. His video chat window came up as well, but it was a blank blue screen.

This was his first time signing on at a time not proposed by Nekae, and the polite, private Vulcan in him was disturbed by the fact that he had not sent any sort of meeting request. But this was the only way he had to communicate with the Nomad and she apparently cared nothing for privacy, so perhaps it was equally wrong to hold her to his people’s standards.

Now he was in the game, and moved to start practicing the newest Beacon skills in his tutorial window. The last time they were on together they completed a story arc, helping a young girl fulfill her destiny, and ended back at the Cosmobar at _Ketarai Menal_. Since she was not here and he was signed in, he thought he should use the time to wisely prepare for their next mission.

_Using play to learn about a complex universe, to acquire skills that are translatable into real life, and practice building and working in teams is logical_ he granted, though he could not help but think doing so while under the influence of mind-altering substances mitigated some of that logic.

While he built his player’s skill bar, he typed a quick message to Nekae.

_[Are you available to speak?]_

He continued to build his skillbar, using the controller with one hand while he reviewed the staff scheduling roster for next month on a padd in his other hand.

_[Maybe. In the middle of something sticky.]_

He was curious, but he took a deep breath and reminded himself that even curiosity needed to be controlled sometimes. The purpose of this communication---of all his communication with the Nomad---was diplomatic. He did not need to know what whale biological function she was assisting with, or what her litkas had gotten into, or what new mind-altering substance she had acquired.

_[Will you be near this sector of space in the next seven cycles?]_

To accommodate for their differences in stellar cartography Spock attached a star map with Ardana marked.

_[That’s a bit personal. Maybe. Why?]_

A cycle of his meditation had been devoted to how he would answer this question.

_[In seven cycles there will be a diplomatic event where my attendance will be required. These events often include dancing and other activities where beings touch, and as a touch telepath these are difficult for me. I am, however, able to touch you without telepathic discomfort, so if you were in the area and could attend, you would be an ideal companion.]_

He waited, starting another practice cycle for his character. He was almost maxed out on this skill, and it was the last skill he had to max out before needing to move on to a new spacestation.

Mentally, he compared the passing time with her average response rate. He was 10 seconds past her average already, and time was growing even as he monitored it. Finally, a response came up in his text window.

_[I get that. And friends help each other. I can be there. Just send me where to be and what you’re wearing.]_

He observed the physiological signs of relieve that he experienced on this reply, then his eyes widened as another came right after it.

_[And send me anything else I need to know.]_

His eyes narrowed. Her high standards for honesty with him made this statement problematic. The Ven diagram of this situation, where what she thought she needed to know and what he thought she needed to know overlapped, also included significant areas where their opinions did not overlap.

_[I will do my best to accommodate this unspecific request.]_

She sent him a picture which was meant to be a pair of eyes rolling. This did nothing to change the relief he felt. It was obviously time for more meditation.

* * *

 

“How did you know about Starfleet rankings?” she asked, her doe eyes wide, framed by a perfectly smooth, porcelain face and red hair piled up on her head.

“I’ve been reading up on starships, but they have one luxury not mentioned in the manuals,” he replied. And while everything felt real, some part of him knew he was dreaming.

“What’s that?” Her voice wavered. With her accelerated heart rate, dilated eyes, and increased glandular response he knew it was a combination of fear and arousal.

“A beautiful woman.”

Khan took a long, deep breath, waking up on his flat bunk. He didn’t need to look around to know that he was still in his cell on Tantalus. That did not keep him from smiling to himself.

_My people are safe, I am protected and have time, and now I have memories to entertain myself with during my convalescence_ he thought to himself.

In truth, the humans were foolish to keep him alive. Every moment he was here, he used his basic access to the data networks provided to inmates to learn more about the history and social evolution of humans since his time on Earth. His people were kept alive---even if in stasis---and in close proximity. And they had even granted him time with a beautiful woman. His eidetic memory allowed him to live the experience over and over, and while he was an Augmented man, he was still a man.

He closed his eyes and went back to the moment when he met the sheepish Miss Marla Mcgivers.

_The moment she entered the penal colony meeting room she revealed herself. She looked around the room, her shoulders drawing up. Her body straightened, and he searched her for clues to her personal life: abdominal muscles not used to being engaged, heart rate elevated just from being in a new space, legs moving slow and tentatively on the heels of her boots. When she finally sat, she restlessly pulled the hem of her skirt down._

_She had a job that kept her in a confined space, probably alone, where she did not always have to wear her regulation boots. She was unused to her uniform skirt riding up when she sat, so that job was not manning a post where she would sit among others._

_And then there was the way she looked at him, with a mix of fear, awe, and attraction._

He closed his eyes, going through the interaction again, scene by scene.

“ _You are from the Enterprise. I do not remember you from my time there.” He saw the slightest flutter in her chest and heard her breath hitch with a soft gasp._

“ _I came on board after all that. I'm Specialist Mcgivers, Ship's Historian.” Her voice was surer than her body language suggested, so he rushed the pace of the conversation to put her through her paces._

“ _The Ship's Historian position is usually a Lieutenant. Rarely an Ensign. Specialist is not a designation typically used by the Sociological section of Starfleet.”_

_She flashed a microexpression in response: her eyebrows shot up, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly. Surprise, something she couldn’t fake._

“ _You made a call on Stardate 3134.8 to the Enterprise stating that Dr. Adams was experimenting on inmates. Do you remember that?” He had long ago shaken a whole host of habits, facial tics and body jerks that would display his own feelings as well as this woman’s microexpressions displayed hers._

_He did not roll his eyes._

“ _What kind of question is 'do you remember'? I have an eidetic memory and, even if I did not, that is hardly something I would forget._

_She took a soft breath then and looked down._

This was a moment he’d already replayed a couple of times now. He loved how demure the act was, not unlike a cat who looked away in submission.

Only this time, something caught his attention. A flicker of movement under her left eyelid. In his cell, from a seated position he leaned forward, absorbed in his mind’s eye and the memory he was rewatching.

He rewound the scene again watching as she lowered her eyes, staying focused on her eyes instead of the pouty lower lip that had drawn his attention before. They moved back and forth like she was reading.

He stretched the vision field of the memory to include things he’d seen but hadn’t paid attention to before, including the reflection of her back and the padd’s screen on the whitebox glass wall.

It was a set of vital signs. And judging by what looked like an elevated heart rate, they weren’t his.

He was stunned. A normal, unaugmented human set out to intentionally deceive him and, despite reviewing the encounter over and over again, he still missed it. She was either a master at facial expressions and body language---truly a candidate for an intelligence organization---or she’d found a way to use her natural reactions to fuel her ruse.

With this new knowledge he relived the entire encounter again, this time with a new hypothesis.

_A Normal who could compete with an Augment…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epic Cast Post full of casting suggestions for canon and oc characters. To get each post in the series, follow southernsexynstuf on tumblr and look for the #castpost hashtag.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure this chapter isn't confusing, here is a cheatsheet with the first names of several characters:
> 
> Lt. Denise Palmer  
> Dr. Carol Marcus  
> Lt. Becca Hannity  
> Specialist Angela Martine  
> Lt. Nyota Uhura

T'Lok ignored stares from the mostly human Enterprise personnel as she strode down the corridor to a conference room at the end. She held a tray with sandwiches—little prepared foods made from vegetables, meats, and cheeses put between two pieces of starch—tea, and a pitcher of ice water.

This was a privilege she had not used in many years. While a Vulcan woman would not serve anyone other than her mate and children, Healers could do anything and everything in the performance of their duties. She entered the room, door already open, and set the tray down on the table. Her clients, Denise, Angela, and Becca were all busy working on their current assignment.

She turned at the mental reverberation. Nyota entered the room, and the presence she unconsciously projected had everyone looking up and turning towards her.

 _Like plants to sun,_ T'Lok thought. She sat back after giving her clients a little push to refresh themselves.

“Report,” Nyota said as she poured herself a cup of tea.

“I spoke with the Denevan Council. The Orion Officer, which is what they are all calling her, was picked up by the U.S.S. Beirut two days ago.” Denise brushed her straw blonde hair out of her face and was handed a glass of water by Angela, who was serving everyone. _Her wide eyes see the strain they are putting on their bodies_ the Healer thought.

“The Beirut is bound for a penal colony,” Denise continued, “but they had no idea which one.”

“Oh, this isn't good...” Becca began, looking down at her console. She displayed what she was looking at on the conference room's main viewer. It was a symbol, a blue Terra with what looked like a weapon spearing it down the middle.

“What is that?” Angela asked, stopping her anxious caregiving in shock.

“That's the logo the ships that stand with the Tompkins are using,” Carol said as she entered, and T'Lok gave her a push too. She grabbed a sandwich, but not before shooting the Vulcan Healer a look.

“Is it really as bad as they are saying?” Nyota asked, directing her question to Carol.

“Well, I don't know what they are saying, but the weapons specialists aboard all those ships are thrilled.” Carol moved towards Becca and asked, “Who is assigned to weapons R and D on the Beirut?”

“Lt. Michaels and Commander Sigurdsson,” Becca supplied. Carol's head snapped up and she made eye contact with Uhura.

“Bad. Very bad.”

“Those are high ranks,” Denise said, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.

“As you may or may not know, weapons development is a planet-bound job for the most part,” Carol explained, “mostly theoretical modeling and testing. Then building, and then really the only reason to go out into space would be for a live test. All of that is to say, there were plenty of Starfleet weapons experts left--” she then cleared her throat.

Her clients were always very conscientious about mentioning that day in her presence. Yet again, T'Lok was moved and suppressed a rising tide of emotionalism.

“Wait, so why are they happy now then?” again, Angela asked the question that several of them were wondering.

“They are happy because they are getting to do experiments that they would not get to do otherwise,” Carol said slowly, her voice sharp with an underlying edge, “because their Science Officer is giving them free reign.”

For a moment all of the women stood in silence, digesting that.

“Palmer, get the Beirut up on comms,” Nyota ordered Denise, who bent over the console apparently attempting just that. Then she put her metallic earpiece in and T'Lok heard the exchange between her and what must have been a comparable Communications staff person on the Beirut. Denise spoke quietly, but turned away from the group as she tried to negotiate.

“What's going on?” Nyota asked.

“--wait--” Denise hit a button muting her end of the line, “--no one will speak to me without 'authorization'--Yes, yes...” Denise muted and unmuted the line, going back and forth between Nyota and the male comms officer on the line.

“'Authorization?'” Martine said in surprise. Nyota rushed forward, took out a pale yellow tape and plugged it into the computer.

If T'Lok listened carefully, she could hear the person on the other end of the subspace signal play the tape. It was a recording of Captain Kirk giving Nyota full powers to collect information on Enterprise's behalf.

“Now we're getting somewhere...” Denise said, and in seconds the room's viewer was filled with the image of a Starfleet officer on the station of a very different looking ship.

His uniform looked the same save for a gold sash around his waist that the Healer had never seen anyone on Enterprise wear. Behind him, the dagger-planet image was painted in white on a red door.

“This is Specialist Peter Nelson of the U.S.S. Beirut. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” While his tone and speaking speed were fine at first, by the second sentence he was more casual than his position would suggest he should be. T'Lok did not like the way the human male looked at her clients.

“Lt. Uhura, from Enterprise. We are on an emergency mission, tracking a lost passenger from the U.S.S. Farragut. We believe you picked her up from Deneva. Is the Orion woman still on your ship?”

While Nyota's tone was brisk and authoritative, this Specialist Peter Nelson did not seem to grasp the meaning of emergency. He pulled a plastic stylus from his belt and toyed with it.

“Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. What's it to you?” he asked.

“This is an emergency mission, Specialist. Do you have the Orion woman passenger aboard your ship or not?” Nyota was getting agitated, and T'Lok lent her calm strength.

“Oh, I love it when a woman pulls rank. Far be it for me, a lowly Specialist, not to...”

“Lifesigns on the Beirut do not include an Orion, Lt.,” Becca said.

“And the Beirut was at Deneva two days ago, where it took on a prisoner. Their next destination was Elba Two,” Denise added.

“A prisoner?!?” Nyota straightened, staring Specialist Peter Nelson directly in the face. “Your prisoner was, in fact, a Starfleet officer who was lost in combat. Your unprofessional actions have caused us a delay in finding her, and that delay...” she stopped herself, letting out a breath through her nose and shaking her head back and forth as if to rid herself of the thought. “I will report you for this!”

“Oh kay...” Specialist Peter Nelson did not seem afraid. Denise cut the connection without needing an order from Nyota.

“Here's what we are going to do,” Nyota rose and, without the need for a telepathic connection or suggestion, Denise, Carol, Becca, and Angela rose with her.

“Hannity, report to the Bridge and give them the course instructions. When the landing party are dropped off at Ardana, the Enterprise will make as good a time as possible to Elba Two. Palmer, please work with Mr. Scott to cut down our possible time as much as we can. Martine, make preparations for a landing party consisting of you, at least one Security officer, Dr. Marcus, and Palmer to beam down to the space station. Dr. Marcus, you were just on a penal colony, so brief me on the way to the Bridge about penal colony security policies.”

T'Lok was left standing in an empty conference room, grateful that the platter, pot, and pitcher were all empty as well.

* * *

“RonEE!”

“RonEE!”

Two female voices called out to each other across space, and in his tiny ship ciphering bots picked up the signal and opened its channel of origin.

Sybok was ready this time, standing in the cooking area of his ship. He chopped a large root up while watching two pictures form. On either side of the wall above his flight console screens appeared to frame the images.

In one stood Sabbas, the Navigator of the family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_. She was a Vulcanoid female with straight brown hair that fell in curtains around her face, interrupted only by thick bangs over her forehead.

 _...not unlike a Priestess_ Sybok thought to himself, watching as if he were just a third person in the conversation, one who chose to be silent.

The other screen held Nekae, the Bridge of _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_. Her hair was a distracting, chaotic mass of curls and she lounged lazily on what looked like a shuttle bucket seat. In her lap a black litka was asleep, though periodically he would open one eye and lift his head slightly before curling back into a ball.

“So what's new? What's now? What's ringin'?” Nekae was loud and musical, her voice and body language telling him that she felt safe. He could almost imagine they both knew he was there, and were completely fine with him listening to them.

“Ugh! My comm, for one!” Now Sabbas spoke, shaking her head and throwing out her hair with every syllable. “Every time I run into Dutar I just lose it and start babbling, which inevitably leads me to say something _insane_ and then I pretend my comm is ringing.”

“What'dyou mean, _insane_?” Nekae often asked questions, her way to keep the conversation moving. Sybok had observed her on calls with several members of her family now, and was starting to get to know her habits.

He had not yet discovered how she was staying in communication with his brother, but he knew it was via feed and was confident he would hack into it eventually. Even so, he was desperately curious.

Did she speak to his brother this way?

“Oh! Like yesterday, when I came out of my cabin rubbing my hands with a whale butter block and right into Dutar. He asked me what I was doing and I started babbling about softening my hands and how, “I always keep my hands softened, just in case...”

Nekae laughed wildly, kicking up her legs and making the litka mewl as he scrambled off her lap.

“Don't laugh. Don't laugh. This is so humiliating...”

“No no no girl! You are doing this all wrong. He is madly in love with you, I can tell. And right now is perfect because you are his neighbor, he doesn't know a lot about you---aside from the fact that you keep your hands ready to work a lok---”

Sabbas lowered her face into her hands dramatically, groaning as Nekae continued---

“---so he won't get attached. Just sit it and split it, _krei_ , sit.it.and.split.it!”

They both laughed for a minute, and then took a few extra moments to smoke. Currently it was stickysticks, but he had observed an impressive range in their intoxicant use so far.

“You know that ChichiRi and Tazukei are on the familyship?” Sabbas asked, starting a new conversation about familial affairs. ChichiRi was the Disciple of the family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ and Tazukei the Bruiser.

“Wait, so _Sa-kuk_ Chi and _Sa-kuk_ Tasz are crammed on ship with D'erryl and D'ectyr? Yeah, _that's_ a recipe for fun.”

All the sudden he felt a rush of vulnerability, a reminder that he wasn't a consensual partner in this conversation. D'ectyr was the Beacon of _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ and D'erryl was his partner. Should Sabbas or Nekae return to the familyship with an accomplished Machinist and Beacon on board his voyeurism would be unwise. Nomads didn't care for privacy, but the clansmen of _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ would not appreciate their women being watched.

“I don't know,” Sabbas said, pausing to take another deep breath of sticky smoke, “it might be fun, family and all. And it would be nice to take a break.”

“That's my problem!” Nekae stood up this time, stretching, “I've been taking too many breaks. I'm being so lazy about my prophecy. At this point, I've probably missed it and am going to have to make up some time in a lap.”

As Nekae took a deep breath, Sabbas nodded and encouraged her.

“Alright. You can totally do this. You'll recommit to discovering the identity of the Falling Woman and we'll---”

“--After the party,” Nekae added.

“---wait, what party?”

Sybok filled his roaster pot with roots and poured in some broth. As he listened, he capped the pot and set the heat. Pouring himself some tea, he left the food prep area and moved to the console, sitting down with a screen on either side of him. As his food cooked he listened to Nekae explain how his brother had asked her to a diplomatic function.

He wanted to know what his brother was thinking. He needed to understand the younger Vulcan's motivations. After so many years, he needed to feel some sort of connection to him again, to the sibling he encouraged and protected in his youth.

“Well, he sent me a pic of him in a pale blue. So what do you think? This one or _this one_?

Then his carefully-cultivated voyeuristic tendencies took over and he watched, rapt as the Nomads discussed clothes. His eyes moved over their relaxed shoulders and loose limbs, took in the lackadaisical way Nekae tossed dresses, wraps, and accessories and the casual tilt of her hips as she modeled for her _krie_.

* * *

 Even though it was the Captain who issued the invitation, Mr. Spock inevitably arrived first (on time). He chose an alcove that had a table with the 3d chess board built in and started to arrange the pieces.

Spock was aware of the moment Kirk stepped foot on the Observation Deck. The Captain's effervescent social behaviors grated on Spock initially, but now he saw them as a way to make the most of every moment afforded to him as a Command officer. Even now as he crossed the Observation Deck the Captain stopped briefly to greet each person he passed by name.

Spock took his role as First Officer with all due seriousness, including the more uncomfortable socializing, and had a mental map of every crewperson on the Enterprise with notations for each person detailing the last time he had greeted them. When he first found himself annoyed by how the Captain would greet people as they walked, he made a similar map of the Captain's crew interactions as a meditative exercise.

It was then that he realized that the Captain's method was more effective than his own, in that he reached more people in a shorter stretch of time, thus using his overall amount of time more effectively. Further, as the Captain did this while he and his First Officer were walking the length of the ship, he fit the task of crew bonding in all of the gaps left between their other, larger work duties.

More and more Spock was coming to realize that his human companions behaved in ways that seemed illogical but were in fact both reasonable and highly efficient. McCoy, for example, whose “get togethers” strongly coincided with the Physician relaxing his requirement that Command crew get quarterly psychosocial evaluations.

“I'll have to get down there to talk with him sometime! I can only imagine what observations our resident Horta might have about the Enterprise!” Kirk stepped past the last person, Specialist Williams from Linguistics, who just started testing her translator modifications on the hatched baby Horta they had aboard ship.

“Hey Spock,” Kirk said, sliding into his chair. Immediately Spock's subconscious observations raised an internal red alert.

Kirk's voice went from 78 decibels as he spoke with the linguist to 70 decibels in greeting Spock. And while this behavior was normal for McCoy, a tacit acknowledgment of Spock's Vulcan hearing, Kirk was usually the opposite.

“Greetings Jim,” he said, an accommodation of his own at the Captain's urging, and a reminder to them both that they were off-duty, “If I'm not mistaken, you are on white today.”

“I can't imagine you are, Spock,” the Captain shot back with a grin. Spock realized that whatever discussion Jim was building up to, he was not going to start it with others around. He relaxed his own posture and mapped out the board in response to Jim's first move.

After his seventh move, the last group left the Observation Deck, all with plans to go by Recreation for some off-duty exercise. Jim got progressively more quiet as the deck emptied, and now Spock was at a loss as to how to start whatever conversation his colleague was dreading.

His friend. They were friends, and to Vulcans that came with an obligation to help, advise, and support when necessary.

“Spock,” Jim began and then stopped, as if he was even now reconsidering this discussion. After several moments passed, the Vulcan nudged the conversation forward.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Jim, Spock, I told you. When we're off-duty, call me Jim.”

After a few moments of silence and another set of moves traded, Jim started again.

“I know the way we do things is different,” he began.

“We have differences,” Spock acknowledged, comfortable quoting Surak even if Jim did not recognize the reference.

“I just mean, when it comes to women we obviously do things differently.”

The red alert was going off now, a klaxon in his mind.

Perhaps, if he brought Lt Uhura the last of his fire fruit tea she would be willing to talk him through this discussion.

“That is true, Jim.” He could not tell whether his response was wrong or right based on Kirk's reaction. The human expelled air and leaned forward.

“I mean, you know me better than almost anyone else here. Maybe not better than Bones, but as well. We spend more time together than we do with anyone else, and I know you see things.”

 _Ah, he is concerned about his privacy_ , Spock thought.

“All is silence on the Enterprise, Jim.” Spock silently hoped his slight modification of Surak's tenets was not heretical.

“No no, that's not what I mean,” Jim was moving his hands now, as he often did when talking excitedly. Spock was glad there was a table and a chess set between them.

“This is my fault,” Jim began again, “because I'm not being clear.” At this, the human seemed to ignore their game entirely, looking at him in a way Spock was wholly uncomfortable with.

“Here's what I mean: I sleep with women. Sometimes men too, and I'm totally not hung up on gender as far as that goes. And I know I'm not breaking regulation, but I think I might still be messing up. Hurting people. And I know that coming to you for advice about women is pretty crazy---no offense!---but you've always behaved like a gentleman and I think I might be...”

Spock held out his hand and, miraculously, the flow of words stopped.

“On Earth, there are an impressive number of options for moral and ethical systems available for a human to ascribe to, enough for it to be confusing. On Vulcan, in my experience, there is only one. I can see how having fewer options can both constrict and relieve.”

Jim nodded, leaning back. One thing he appreciated about this human was the allowance he gave Spock to be pedantic when necessary.

“One thing many of Earth's ethical systems have in common is the idea of a covenant. As an Iowan, raised in a state where over half your fellow Iowans are Christian, you are probably familiar with this term.”

“Yeah, like how Christians believe God has a covenant with man...” Jim trailed off, obviously a little lost.

“Yes, and parents with children, and husbands with wives. This covenant is the promise to remember that the other being in any interaction is as real, as emotional, and as vulnerable as you are.”

This seemed to hit the proper chord with the Captain, and he leaned back.

“And while that has not always been the case in your reactions of this type since you joined Enterprise, Vulcans have a saying that, when combined with this human ethic could be of some use to you.”

Jim leaned forward, nodding, and Spock went on.

“There is no wisdom and no hope for us but that we _grow_ wise.”

For 8.3 seconds there was silence, and Jim played with his remaining bishop, obviously thinking over what was said between them. Then he looked up with the earnest expression that Spock was all-too familiar with now.

“Thank you Spock. I mean that.” As he spoke he rose, and Spock got the feeling his friend had just made a decision.

* * *

 That night Spock forewent his meditation, staying up late to go over the lab rotation schedule. He was awake when the reprimand order went out, and he read and reread the headline of the message on his padd, working through its implications.

_Captain James Tiberius Kirk requests a formal reprimand for conduct unbecoming a Senior Officer._

 


	11. Chapter 11

_To: Admiral Komack, Admirals' Circle, Starfleet Command_

_Re: Reprimand Request, Captain James Tiberius Kirk, Starship Enterprise_

_Admirals,_

_I regret that I have to start this letter with the assurance that this is not a joke, a prank, or a symbolic gesture. I know that I am not so far removed from my Academy record, even now, and that without this assurance my request could easily be written off._

_I hope, for the continued safety of the Federation, that it is not._

_While I am now considered a seasoned Captain, truthfully I am still new and, were these different circumstances, I would still be thought of as too young and inexperienced for this chair. I have done all that I can think of to do to earn the the rank of Captain and all that comes with it._

_In many ways I have been successful. In one very important way I have failed._

_To be clear, I have not officially broken any regulation. The regulations regarding fraternization are both narrow and vague, and by their letter I do not deserve a reprimand. I have not fraternized with a member of my crew, nor has any undue favoritism gone into decisions regarding crew promotion._

_I have been fortunate to have a First Officer who, unlike me, has the experience necessary for his position and has **more** than earned his rank. Not all fleet Captains are so lucky._

_Just outside those regulations my conduct has not been what it should be. I have not fraternized with my crew, but I have with former crew leaving my ship for other postings. I have fraternized with Federation diplomatic staff and with colony personnel. I have taken advantage of the opportunities for fraternization while diplomatic parties were aboard the Enterprise._

_While none of these actions are precisely against regulation, I would argue they are harmful to the spirit of Starfleet and the ethics of the Federation._

_While I technically had no power over Starfleet personnel leaving Enterprise for the other postings, damage done by me as a commanding officer is not the only kind of harm possible. The community of starships and starbases is small, and I know some of them have suffered at their next postings because they chose to fraternize with me. There's no way to know how damaging the gossip that follows Starfleet personnel from posting to posting is on their health and the advancement of their fleet careers._

_While I had no power over the low-ranking diplomatic staff I fraternized with, I know that the rapport that was built through those actions had the potential to influence their work, to bias them towards my Command decisions while they were aboard my ship._

_While I had no power over how and when colonies were resupplied, I know that very same rapport could have unconsciously biased me to want to resupply some colonies more than others._

_And in all of these situations, women and feminine-presenting Starfleet and Federation staff have begun to suffer from this lack of regulation, and from the assumption that every time regulations do not forbid fraternization that such fraternization is possible._

_That is an unfair burden on those officers, staff, and colonists. It creates a culture where women, feminine men, and feminine non-binary beings are considered commodities. This culture weakens the fleet, undermines our mission of exploration, threatens the credibility of our scientific pursuits, and damages the communities we form in deep space fleet service._

_For that reason I request a reprimand for these actions, and a review of the regulations around fraternization. The situations starships encounter in deep space are often outside the current boundaries of our imagination. Fraternization regulations should be broad and flexible enough to make it clear to everyone that coworkers, colleagues, collaborative partners, fellow Federation citizens, and first contact representatives are not commodities._

_This does not mean regulations should be changed to forbid relationships or sex. In deep space, where Starfleet personnel are surrounded by their crewmates for 3, 5, 7, and sometimes even 10 year missions, relationships are both natural and necessary._

_The Federation represents peace and cooperation among tens of species on hundreds of worlds. Surely if we can figure out how to overcome our differences and work so well together, we can also figure out how to allow for the natural building of relationships that happens on long missions in deep space while protecting each other from the shame, gossip, pressure, and trauma of immature, unfair, and oppressive sexual behavior._

_I respectfully submit myself for whatever disciplinary action this body deems appropriate._

_Sincerely,_

_Captain James Tiberius Kirk, Starship Enterprise_

* * *

 

Spock set down his padd, holding the muscles in his jaw, neck, and shoulders against the sudden release of emotional tension.

It was logical that he feel relief. For the first time since her launch, Enterprise was fully staffed. Every post was filled, and he even had to requisition additional quarters for crew that were only temporarily assigned to Enterprise for training before continuing on to other ships.

That meant that he worked through the night approving transfer requests, trading the completion of this much-needed task for the meditation he knew would have been beneficial before--

“Bridge to Commander Spock.”

“Spock here.”

“Secure call from the Intrepid.”

“I'll take it here in my quarters, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, Sir.”

On the monitor at his workstation the black faded to blue, with Federation diplomatic insignia behind it. Then the image sharpened and Sarek could be seen clearly from the shoulders up.

“Greetings, my Son.”

“Greetings, Father.”

After a moment, Sarek continued.

“We are at Warp 3, bound for Ardana.”

“We are in route as well. We will be in orbit at 0200 hours.”

Another moment of silence passed between them. These were the moments Spock knew his mother would fill with what Terrans called “small talk”.

“I called to inquire about your  plans for the reception on Stratos. Have you found a suitable companion for the event?”

“I have.”

While many described his father as “cold”, “mechanical”, and “unreadable”, years in his presence had given Spock particular insight into his responses. Clearly he had not been expecting this response.

“Is there... anything you require?” At this, Spock chided himself. His father was calling, undoubtedly to offer assistance for what would otherwise be an intensely uncomfortable night. That he even asked the question proved that the purpose of his call was not purely to ensure that Vulcan would not be engulfed in a diplomatic misunderstanding with Ardana.

“No Father.” Then, before another stilted silence, he added, “I was required to forgo my last two meditation cycles. I apologize. Were Mother here, she would describe me as 'intractable'.”

That seemed to relieve the tension between them, and Sarek's shoulders visibly relaxed.

“I regret that there was not enough time to allow for both your duties and meditation,” Sarek said with a nod, and Spock reflected on how much softer that response was than it could have been. His father was clearly making a dramatic change in his parenting style in reaction to the loss of his mother, and as a son he should be making accommodations in turn.

“Is there anything you require Father?” Spock had never asked a question like this before, because he had never considered Sarek might need something from him. In contrast, he had asked his mother this very same question 1,616.428 times. While there were many things he could not do---say he loved her, relax easily into her embrace, laugh at her jokes---he could demonstrate his honor for her by offering assistance.

He was surprised when his father took time and thought about the request.

“I require nothing.” Spock knew there was more, and Amanda was not here to press for it.

“But there is something that I could do to make the reception easier,” as he watched Sarek's face, it was clear that was not correct, “or perhaps more effective in some way?” To that, Sarek begrudgingly nodded.

“Yes. But you have not had a proper meditation cycle, and making a brief entrance at the reception will allow you to return to your ship and get needed rest.”

“Zefigth jalkaric tauk,” Spock replied, using the language native to Zeta Orionis. The translation was _Let me help_ , and the language was the native language of the writer who had made those very words famous throughout the Federation.

In the past his father had indulged his mother 96.1% of the time when she employed literary references. He was rewarded with a raised eyebrow.

“There is, perhaps, a problem with Ardana's Federation membership,” Sarek began, clearly gearing up for a lengthy exposition. “Ardana, as you know, has a caste system which includes the the Stratos 'city-dwellers', who reside in the Cloud cities, and the Troglytes, who live on the surface in the mines.”

Spock nodded, knowing Sarek would anticipate that he had completed his own preparations for the reception and would not need a review. All of this detail must be crucial to his father's request.

“Ardana was admitted to the Federation as a planet with a caste system, which is allowable under Federation law. I suspect that the division of social classes on Ardana more closely resembles slavery than it does caste separation.”

Spock had the same concerns, but for his father to be saying so had political implications.

“That is a serious charge. If you are correct, Ardana could lose its Federation membership.”

“Indeed.” Sarek threaded his fingers together, pointer fingers steepled. He rested his fingers on his lips for just a moment, as if working out what to say next. “This is further complicated for me, as the Tellurite Ambassador Gav served as the Federation representative on the Ardanan negotiations.”

“And if you object, Gav will take it as a personal attack.”

“Precisely.”

This was just the sort of thing that frustrated Spock about politics.

“Further, Ardana is currently the only source of naturally-occurring zenite in the Federation. As you know, zenite has properties that manifest in naturally-occurring samples but do not also do so in replicated versions.”

Spock nodded, very aware of the fact that replicated zenite did not combat the wide range of molds and fungi that zenite harvested in the wild did. It was an experiment he led 3rd year cadets in as a lab assistant at the Academy.

“But if Starfleet personnel noticed signs that something was amiss and investigated, whatever was found would make it into a ship's log record,” Sarek continued.

“And,” Spock continued on Sarek's heels, “ship logs are admissible as evidence for Federation diplomatic inquiries.”

“Yes.”

Spock was about to ask Sarek how he would handle the accusation that he had asked his son to do exactly what he was being asked to do now, but something about his father seemed off. _He is tired,_ he thought.

“Had you not asked, it is still quite possible Captain Kirk would make similar observations and want to investigate them. This is of no concern. It will be done.”

Spock watched as this response seemed to rejuvenate his father. Sarek sat up straighter and the skin under his eyes tightened.

“Very good.”

* * *

 

Kirk shot out of his quarters, bypassing his usual visit to the Recreation Deck for some coffee and heading straight for Conference Room 15. He hadn't slept that well in months and even though he might be up for a court martial or lose his Command he could swear that a weight had been lifted.

He stopped in front of the turbolift, pressing the button and saying, “Deck 2 please,” confidently into the recorder. A crewman came up next to him. Looking over, he recognized Ensign Tonia Barrows. The Ensign turned to him.

“Thank you, Captain.” The turbolift doors opened and she turned and continued down the corridor. He got in and looked to his left. There was Lt. DeSalle from the Beta Bridge crew.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said, a little bit of the shine on his day worn off by his strange encounter in the corridor.

“Captain... just... thank you.” He literally didn't know what to say, and after a few moments the doors opened onto the Bridge. DeSalle walked out onto the Bridge and the turbolift door closed behind him. He felt the downward lurch and in moments the door opened again, this time to his own destination.

The doors opened to Yeoman Teresa Ross, who looked surprised to see him.

“Thank you Captain,” she said, moving past him into the lift as he stepped out of it.

The door closed and after a moment he forced himself to turn and walk down the corridor to the conference room. As he came in a yeoman was setting out coffee and a tray with breakfast bars and fruit. She turned and, seeing him, poured him a cup of coffee 

“You did the right thing, Captain,” she said, handing him the cup, “I mean, at least in my book.”

The doors opened to let in Commander Spock, and she moved past him to leave the room.

Spock looked past her as she left, and Kirk was sure he'd heard what she said. If he had, it did not phase his Vulcan control one bit, as he turned and choose a seat, pulling out his padd and stylus as if this were any other meeting.

Before anyone else could enter, Kirk hit the door lock. That action did get his First Officer's attention.

“Just tell me I didn't fuck this up.” He hated how needy he sounded, but none of this was what he'd expected and, frankly, he was confused.

“On the contrary,” Spock replied smoothly, as if the entire interaction was completely normal, “while I cannot predict how the Admiralty will react, my observations of the crew make it clear that you have not jeopardized your ability to lead them. And,” at this he drew up, walked over to the door, and unlocked it, “you may be interested to know that the Enterprise is fully now fully staffed. When we rendezvous with the U.S.S. Potemkin at Starbase 11 we will take on a full complement of new personnel, plus an additional 27 trainees that will stay with the Enterprise for at least 2.1 Standard months.”

As he spoke, Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus filed in and took seats. They both looked wired, like they'd already been awake for more than 24 hours. Spock gestured for him to move first and that small nod of the head was enough to get Kirk away from the door and sinking into a chair.

“Fully staffed,” he repeated, hardly able to believe it. The Enterprise had been fully staffed for less than an hour in its entire commissioned history so far. No other ship in the fleet was fully staffed. The two of them had been working on staffing for years.

“Over staffed, if we count the trainees,” Spock added helpfully.

“Over staffed,” Kirk said, rolling the words around in his mouth. Had he ever said them in relation to a starship before? He didn't think he had.

“That is an impressive achievement Captain, Commander. One we will all benefit from. Congratulations,” Carol's proper British cadence cut through his thoughts, and he remembered that this was a meeting.

“Thank you, Doctor.” His tone must have made a point, because Uhura was at the conference room console pulling up a presentation. “I hear we're running a rescue mission.”

“Yes, Captain,” Uhura jumped in, bringing up the specs on the Federation Asylum on Elba 2. “According to the path we tracked from Deneva 2 to the U.S.S. Beirut, the 'Orion Officer' was dropped off here, at the Federation Asylum for the Criminally Insane on Elba 2, at approximately 2145 hours, two days ago.”

“We have confirmed,” Carol added, “that the 'Orion Officer' is still there, one of two Orion prisoners waiting for a prisoner exchange with representatives of the Orion Syndicate.”

“Have we confirmed her identity?” He asked.

“No,” Uhura began, and he could tell something was making her angry about that, “because our conversation with staff aboard the Beirut was not helpful. I've already filed a report, Captain.”

“A pity,” Spock said, and Kirk turning in his chair to look at him. He was leaned back, both eyebrows raised, and for a moment he was taken back to Kronos, and Spock's advice not to anger Lt. Uhura.

“Truly,” he added, “So, what's the plan?”

This time Dr. Marcus took the lead.

“We've scheduled with Navigation to leave orbit while you are on Ardana for the reception. Lt. Palmer is working with Mr. Scott to cut that travel time down, and according to their estimates we should be able to make it to Elba 2 in four hours on Warp 6, and then back in another four.”

“We can make arrangements to board the Intrepid at the end of the festivities if necessary,” Spock said, fingers already moving on his padd.

“Once we arrive,” Uhura was speaking again, and had advanced the slide, “We will send one team down to Elba 2 while the other stands by on the Bridge to coordinate and provide additional assistance.” Now it displayed the crew jacket flaps for Lt. Palmer, Dr. Marcus, Lt. Hannity, Specialist Martine, Lt. Uhura, and Specialist Cyani.

“Specialist Martine, Lt. Palmer, and Security Specialist Cyani will beam down to the planet with me,” Dr. Marcus picked up, “and Lt. Uhura will coordinate on the Bridge with Lt. Hannity on comms. As Lt. Uhura has not completed Command Training, she is working with Lt. Sulu at the Conn.”

The whistle of a Captain's alert propelled him from the chair and over to the console. Uhura pressed the button just as he said, “Kirk here.”

“On the approach to Ardana,” Sulu's voice came out of the console speakers, “We'll be in orbit shortly.”

“In how long, Lieutenant?” He couldn't completely hold back his grin. Spock was constantly pushing everyone towards supplying more, and more accurate, information.

“In 20 standard minutes, Sir,” Sulu replied, and Kirk was relieved that the Helmsman was finally consistently unfazed. He noticed it took the Command team awhile to get used to Spock's constant push to excellence.

Everyone except Uhura. It was like a dramatic tragedy, watching the two of them. They were perfect for each other in so many ways, and even now she was the easiest person for Spock to work alongside.

She understood him.

Kirk had made it his mission to get better at working with Spock too, the get to know him and insert himself into his life as a friend and someone exceptionally easy to work around. Since he'd made the decision, their working relationship improved dramatically.

Spock liked to push, and Jim liked to be pushed.

Besides, even after almost getting choked to death by the man, Jim couldn't watch him flail and drown in his grief. He lost his planet and mother in a heartbeat, only to lose the love of his life agonizingly slowly.

“We're on our way to the Transporter Room. Let me know when the Intrepid is in orbit as well.”

Spock rose, and since Kirk was already standing bent over the console he just straightened. Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus did not move.

“Captain,” Lt. Uhura began, and for some reason imagining either of them saying _thank you_ or anything like that made him want to throw up. Spock seemed to notice something was wrong, and had moved to stand next to him.

Then both women laughed, and the sound was both beautiful and the last thing he expected.

“I just wanted to say good job with your letter,” Uhura continued, “I know you meant it for Commanders and above, but when you added all Captains and First Officers to the list you threw it right to the rumor mill. And as you know, nothing travels faster in space than gossip.”

Kirk felt his muscles, which had squeezed themselves into a rigid armor, release and he nodded, laughing himself into a sigh.

“And after dealing with the Comms Officer on the Beirut, that letter was just what I needed to read,” Uhura added, this time her tone turning serious.

“But,” Dr. Marcus came up beside him, “there was one part of your letter that we both agreed was a little off the mark.”

Later, looking back on it, he would swear that Carol paused there on purpose, just to mess with him.

“'There is no way to know how damaging the gossip that follows Starfleet personnel from posting to posting is...'” she continued, quoting him with her crisp, old guard Starfleet way of speaking.

“Really, Captain?” Uhura added, and he could see that she was struggling not to smile long enough to get through her next words. “There is a way to know. It's called Science, Captain.”

“Linguistics, specifically,” Marcus added helpfully, “And, if you like, as Science Officer I can write a research question for Enterprise Communications staff to turn into an experiment.”

There was no mistaking the humor in their words now.

“Yes, Sir. Because on the Enterprise, we boldly go where no researchers have ever gone before,” Uhura added as they both rose and filled out of the Conference Room. Even without Vulcan hearing he could hear the sounds of them laughing a good, hard laugh in the hallway.

“Are you alright, Sir?” He turned fast, almost forgetting that his First Officer had moved to his side.

“Well,” he said, letting himself smile for the first time that day, “if the Admiralty doesn't take my Command it looks like everything is going to be fine here.”


	12. The Cloud Minders Redux, Part 1

“Take this,” he says, his voice deep and even as he hands her a flute with a bubbling pink concoction, “It is safe.”

“Isn't it a wonder that you aren't coupled?” she shot back drily.

Spock and Nekae stood in front of a “wax painting”, where the wax-like secretions of indigenous insects were colored and used to create pictures and patterns. The insects themselves were fascinating. They could no longer exist in the native environment, which was now barren and harsh. They lived only in captivity, bred by the Stratos city-dwellers.

“Tell me more about this Transporter,” she said, leaning back on her heels and letting her hands drop to her sides as she examined the work of art.

“What would you like to know?” After so many encounters over subspace, being in close quarters was a novelty, and it generated an odd sensation that he was unable to identify.

“You said it was a matter transporter which scanned me, broke me down into the smallest possible pieces, and turned me into a _matter stream_.” she repeated his terms back to him with emphasis, “Then your computer copied me into your _pattern buffer_ , did some math to factor in how _there_ might be different from _here_ , and then I was reassembled. That right?”

“A succinct analysis,” Spock noted. As she spoke, she stayed looking at the wax painting.

“Then how do you know that I'm me? I mean, how do you know the me that was on my ship is the same me that stands here now, drinking bubbly sap and appreciating bug jizz?”

 _Perhaps a diplomatic reception was not the best place to bring her_ he thought, and lowered his voice slightly so she would do the same. They had superior hearing compared to most of the other species present, and if he could keep the conversation quiet then it would not matter what she said.

“A metaphysical question, one posed by many in the Federation. Enterprise crew use it regularly and there is no discernible difference between staff before and after transporter use. I believe Dr. McCoy is attending this event, and this is a conversation he would enjoy having.”

Then she turned to him, her head swiveling while her shoulders and body stayed oriented towards the painting, her eyes on his face, “What about this _copy_ of me your transporter made for its _pattern buffer_? Could you go back and materialize that? Does that copy still exist?”

She was still able to catch him off-guard in ways that were unacceptable. While what she was asking was theoretical, it gave her more information about their transporter technology than he would like her having.

“Yes,” he began carefully, “the copy still exists, through it can be deleted easily. As for your second question, rematerializing someone long after their original beaming through the use of the pattern buffer has yet to be tried, so I cannot correctly predict whether or not it would work.”

She shot him a disbelieving expression and he replied with a face his mother claimed would prevent soft dairy products from dissolving in his mouth. It was a claim he never had the urge to test.

“Perhaps,” he said, placing a hand lightly on the small of her back where there was fabric, “we should continue on.” She turned and they moved further into the museum.

“I request that, when we are done, you delete the copies you made of me. And that you not hang on to them for any length of time, or study them, or make additional copies, or attempt to rematerialize any of them...”

The way she spoke, adding condition after condition, reminded him of conversations he had when he was little. He was himself a letter-of-the-rule child, and felt no guilt about doing what he was instructed exactly, even if he knew his behavior fell outside of the spirit of the instruction.

“Very well,” he said easily, watching as the Captain and Doctor saw them from across the hall and set out to bridge the distance between them.

“Nekae,” Captain Kirk greeted her when they got close, “How wonderful to see you.” Kirk was starting to use the voice and body language he employed when engaging in what humans called 'flirting'.

Spock felt irritation grow in his chest---which was interrupted as he saw McCoy motion to him with the slight jerk of his head. He left the Nomad with Captain Kirk, walking off to the side where the doctor had gone to look at a metal sculpture.

“You wished to see me, Doctor?”

“I thought you were going for two birds with one stone?”

Spock looked back at Nekae, and noted that she was still close enough to hear their conversation easily, without any additional effort on her part.

“While I do not appreciate that violent metaphor, that is still my intention.”

“Well you're never going to get it if you don't change what's going on right now.”

“What do you suggest?” At that, McCoy laughed, and Spock wondered if the Doctor had been expecting to be asked for assistance. The human took a moment to think about it.

“You played house before. Play diplomatic event now. Surely you've seen that version of the game before, right?” The Physician's advice included Terran English idioms deliberately, but Spock felt confident he knew the Doctor's intended meaning.

“That seems... disingenuous...” he replied, genuinely uncomfortable with deception.

“Well,” and the Doctor's drawl came out with his words, reminding Spock that the human was also behaving like it was a party, “that's only true if you're unmoved. And despite that mask you wear, I suspect this situation's gonna move you plenty. Come on,” he said, motioning where another person might try to grab Spock by the arm.

He reflected briefly on how much he appreciated his friendship with the human Doctor. Though he made a fuss about Spock's lack of expression, he did not truly hold unreasonable expectations.

From across the room, he observed his Captain speaking to the Nomad Nekae. The Captain was speaking to her as if she were human, punctuating his words with hand gestures and small touches to her arm and shoulder. While this would not have been acceptable were she a Vulcan female, as a Nomad she was not telepathically sensitive to touch.

Reaching back, he conjured up a similar moment for his own parents.

 

_Spock scanned the crowd, watching as the mix of Terrans, Andorians, Tellarites, and others danced and ”mingled” in the ballroom at the Vulcan Embassy on Alpha Centauri. At fifteen, he had no age peers at the embassy, and after a few awkward obligatory dances with some of the other teens in diplomatic families he had been left to his own devices._

_They did not welcome him as one of their friend group, but they did not shun him either._

_In truth, acceptance by his peers would interfere with his work. Their parents, from what he could gather, did not assign them tasks to complete during events like this one. His did, and he was grateful. He could not imagine what he would do at an event like this were he not assisting his mother._

_**The press contact from the Tellar Intergalactic News Wipe is working his way around the room towards the contact from Terra's PETA advocacy group.** _

_**Thank you, dear.** _

_He continued to scan the room, keeping up with the lobbyists, media representatives, and corporate interest firm staff as they “mingled”. His mother had a large number of people she wanted to keep up with, but was unable to both hold conversations and watch the room. He assisted her with this task, using their familial bond to communicate silently from different sides of the large space._

_The link to his father's side of the parental bond was silent and shielded._

_He got to the middle of the hall, where his father was speaking with Andorian Ambassador Shras and his lead attache, Aide Endilev._

_Spock suppressed rising frustration. In the privacy of his own mind he could admit to himself that, while his father's diplomatic missions were pleasant for a whole host of reasons, the job of diplomacy itself was not._

_Beings constantly lied, misled one another, gave their word and then acted in contradiction to it, and engaged in many other behaviors that seemed in direct opposition to peace when viewed by a Vulcan trained that truth and transparency were the cornerstones of cooperation._

_Most of the time (91.248%) Spock was focused on independent, interesting work. His mother was a teacher, but on these trips worked more as a media relations manager and a lobbying consultant. She matched Vulcan's position on any given issue with advocacy groups and lobbyists from Terra, Andor, and Tellar. While Vulcans were a different species, with their own ethical philosophies, his mother would match Vulcan's current position on an issue with Federation advocacy groups that would agree with it, and then organize media opportunities to showcase these relationships._

_Spock often helped her with tasks that were better suited to his longer waking cycle and eidetic memory, including monitoring media and writing daily “round ups” for her and her staff, receiving and working through the messages hundreds of advocacy groups sent to their supporters to chart the progress of her lobbying and messaging work._

_This meant learning the facial cues, body language, and written colloquialisms for several different species, and working side-by-side with his mother to do so. When they were off-world she became his only teacher, all other tutors relegated to online instruction which he was left to complete at his own pace._

_All of this was a welcome break from his time on Vulcan, where he went to the Vulcan Science Learning Center, one of the feeder schools to the Vulcan Science Academy. At the VSLC he was surrounded by Vulcans who were both his age peers and all from noble, ancient clans like his own._

_They did not welcome him as one of their friend group, and they shunned him and anyone who associated with him._

_As a child, Spock tried stratagem after stratagem to deal with this bullying. After his kahs'wan, Spock responded to this shunning and social isolation in the only logical way he could think to---he pushed his academics, rising from class-to-class ahead of schedule until he was in a class group with much-older peers. At this level his fellow students largely ignored him and most of the instruction was individual._

_This solution was effective for awhile. Then several of his age peers petitioned the Headmaster with the claim that they wished to “support” him by socializing with him during meal periods and were granted access to the upper level classrooms._

_It was then that Spock, who was already helping his mother with media analysis via subspace, offered to assist her by accompanying his parents on diplomatic assignments._

_Now he was here, at peace socially, doing meaningful work and honoring his mother. He set aside his aversion to the diplomatic aspects of his parents' work as irrelevant._

“ _I estimate that we will be here 84.15 standard minutes more,” his father said, having walked up while he was busy watching the Terra World News and Federation Nightly correspondents work the room getting their quotes._

_He nodded in response, letting no action betray whether this was positive or negative news. He was here to support his parents, and his own needs were logically of no concern. He turned to look at his father and followed the elder Vulcan's gaze._

_Across the room, the new Terran Ambassador to Vulcan, Ambassador Artur Luski, was speaking to his mother._

_This was no surprise, as the new Ambassador had met the Vulcan delegation here and was scheduled to ride back with them on their return to Vulcan._

_What was somewhat jarring to Spock's senses was how Luski touched his mother's shoulder and arm while speaking. He had observed the Ambassador using similar light touches in conversation with other Terran and Tellarite guests, which made diplomatic sense given their home cultures._

_But his mother was not only Terran. By marriage, she was also Vulcan, and touching a Vulcan woman, especially a bonded one, was considered taboo._

_Sarek nodded down to him in return and then crossed the room. He stepped up to Luski and then between the Ambassador and his mother, stopping just next to her and holding out the ozh'esta._

“ _My wife, attend.” She turned and nodded, offering him her two fingers in return, and Spock felt the bond with his mother close._

“ _Hello Sarek, nice evening isn't it?” Luski began, his voice squeakier than before as Spock watched his father respond with silence, staring at the human with an intense look that even as a teen he had no trouble interpreting._

“ _Well I'm sure I'll be seeing you at the session tomorrow. Excuse me,” the Terran Ambassador said, turning and moving into the nearest available conversation._

“ _That was rude!” he heard his mother hiss, keeping her voice low._

“ _Indeed he was,” her father replied._

 

Spock squared his shoulders and then, in an echo of his father's past actions, he walked up to his Captain and then between the human and the Nomad. Settling at her side he put a hand at the small of her back again, in the same spot as before.

“Where did you two run off to?” the Captain asked McCoy as Nekae gave him a questioning look. Further down the hall he could sense where his father was waiting with the High Advisor Plasus and the Advisor's daughter, Droxine.

“Perhaps we should continue.” Spock turned to speak directly to her, voice pitched low, as if the Captain and Doctor were not right next to them. “This is a diplomatic event, and our Ardanan hosts are waiting ahead to greet us.”

She shrugged and downed the rest of her glass, setting it on a tray as a waiter passed behind them.

 _A Troglyte waiter_ he noted, observing that all of the staff assigned to “menial” tasks were, so far as he had observed, all Troglytes.

“How about we keep it moving?” McCoy interjected, tugging at his collar. “The sooner we get into the actual reception, the sooner we can get out---and the sooner _I_ can get out of _this_.”

“It does look ridiculously uncomfortable,” Nekae added helpfully and as a group they moved past the entrance hall and on to the formal reception entrance. There Sarek, Sorel, High Advisor Plasus, and the First Daughter Droxine waited for them.

“Adviser Plasus,” Sarek began, “may I introduce you to Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, Doctor McCoy, Commander Spock---who is, as you know, my son---, and the Nomad Nekae of the Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_.”

Spock noted that neither Plasus nor his daughter seemed dismayed by the addition to their group. He suspected it was because he had been required to submit her name a standard week before as a part of the event's security procedures.

“Captain, may you and your crew be welcomed here on Stratos. I see you have taken your time on the walk up enjoying our world's artistic accomplishments.” Plasus's greeting was polite, but with a subtle dig. Spock wondered if his Captain would take the bait.

“Yes we have,” Kirk replied, an honest smile on his face, “Your Council Gallery is quite impressive!” At that Plasus broke into a smile.

“Of course, Stratos is known as the art and cultural center of the Federation. These were just to whet the palate, I assure you. May I introduce one of our planet's most incomparable works of art, my daughter, Droxine.”

At the introduction the blonde, slender Ardanan blushed, and the red rose on her cheeks and then moved down her neck. In a gown that resembled a tied-on brassier and a flowing skirt, she was more bare than clothed.

“Father!” she chided playfully, hitting the Ambassador's arm. Then she turned directly to him. “I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Spock. Your father has been in negotiations with mine for weeks, and I must admit to having built up some curiosity at the mention that _you_ would be in attendance. I hope that emotion isn't distasteful to you.”

At his side he felt Nekae move as her muscles tensed. He was surprised the Ambassador's daughter took such a flirtatious tone with him.

“Not at all,” he responded smoothly. “Even on Vulcan, curiosity is considered necessary for continued scientific endeavor.”

He could hear a party of Andorians coming down the hall behind them, and he knew his father would move them along. Looking down, he spoke to Nekae.

“Would you like to take the unguided tour? I listened to the audio in preparation and I think you will be most interested in the pieces inspired by Ardana's local fauna.”

“Sounds void.”

In moments the four of them were rotated past Ambassador Sarek and Adviser Plasus, and as they walked away the diplomatic greetings began anew.

“Bones, why don't we leave these two and find some more of those little hors d'oeuvers? I'm starved!”

“Don't even think about putting anything in your mouth before I've scanned it Jim. You know how you are...”

Shortly after that the two Vulcanoids found themselves alone again, this time contemplating a statue with winding ice sculpture arms that ended in plumes of flame. After giving her a short history or the piece and its construction, he handed her another drink.

“Are we going to pretend you didn't leave some essential information out of your invitation?” The tone of her question made it clear that she was ready for a fight. Perhaps he could diffuse the tension with humor.

“I believe I told you everything you needed to know...” he said, quoting her instructions to him. He was rewarded with a grin.

“Were you a Nomad I'd commend you for your sneakiness. Since you're a Vulcan I should remind you that you're supposed to be honest.”

“It was not a lie. Perhaps an omission.”

“I don't remember hearing stories about Surak's famous omissions...”

“For a Nomad, you seem quite well-versed on the philosophy of Surak.”

“For a Vulcan, you seem quite annoyed.”

For the first time in his life, being accused of emotionalism brought him relief instead of stress.

* * *

 

“How's he doing, Bones?” Jim asked, downing his 7th miniature flower pastry. He was hungry, but according to McCoy's medical tricorder the flower pastries and some gummies that smelled vaguely of fish were the only things at this event that wouldn't put him into anaphylactic shock.

“I think he'll do fine. He just needed a little advice.”

“What 'advice' did you give him? After your little sideline chat he came back and stared me down like we were about to fight over a girl. And--” Kirk's voice had started to speed up and he pointed to punctuate his words, “--it wasn't at _you_ , so you didn't see his face. No, it was more than that—there was a vibe coming off him. It was...”

He watched Jim trail off, worried. His friend had that look on his face, like he did when he was putting a puzzle together.

Nothing good ever came after that look.

“Drink?” A woman in a blue flowing gown offered them a drink. McCoy took the short square glass and nodded in thanks.

“Hey, have you noticed that everyone doing the work around here is a Troglyte?” he asked, half hoping it would distract his friend from whatever hunt he was on.

“Even the security, which there's a lot of... I mean, diplomatic events have security, but it is supposed to be understated. This is just the opposite, there are guards in every room.” Jim went right for the bait, and he knew a new puzzle had caught the Captain's eye.

“All of the Troglyte guards are wearing sunglasses. The ones posted outside _and_ the ones posted inside,” McCoy added, hoping to keep him on the line.

“...but the wait staff don't need them.” The Captain was nodding, talking it through clue by clue.

“And don't forget what happened when we first got here---” McCoy himself was starting to think it through, and there were more than a few things strange about this whole situation. And something in his stomach told him he wouldn't like where this was going.

When they'd first arrived they were processed into the event by Ardanan security. The Troglytes asking the questions looked and sounded like the wait staff, who sounded like the Stratos city-dwellers. The Troglytes who were larger and clearly there to do more of the physical security work---the ones who wore the glasses---didn't. There was something off about them.

“They spoke and behaved differently, like they weren't as smart or weren't as old,” Jim jumped with him, as if he'd heard the path McCoy's thoughts were taking.

“Food?” A waiter offered him a plate of flower pastries and as he turned everything sped up. The tray was hitting the wall with a clatter and a knife was at his throat. In front of him, Jim was on alert and his arms were up.

“Don't hurt him!” The words shot out of Jim's mouth, but his voice sounded stable and calm.

“You are going to come with me, Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise,” she said, letting him know that she knew them, “but y _ou_ will decide whether or not Doctor McCoy comes with us.”

“He stays with me.” He watched Jim surrender, and something was off about it. He sounded too willing.

He hated it when Jim had a plan.

 


	13. The Cloud Minders Redux, Part 2

He opened the glass door for her and they entered the “hot house”. Inside, the air was thick and humid, and the temperature was 101.5 degrees Fahrenheit.

Spock stopped abruptly, gesturing for an Ardanan couple to pass them as Nekae lolled her head back, relaxing her shoulders in what a Vulcan would consider an over-exaggerated expression of relief.

That said, he could not disagree with the sentiment. He lived his life in frigid cold temperatures and, though the humidity was not to his liking, the heat more than made up for it.

“This is the voidest thing here so far...” she said. He stepped up, putting his hand on her back and nudging her forward.

“The rise in temperature is pleasant,” he agreed.

They stopped in front of a wall covered by a climbing coral reef. As the planet itself did not have water in large enough bodies to sustain it, this was another example of indigenous life preserved by the Stratos-city dwellers.

He turned to Nekae, ready to share what he had learned about the _kretae_ creatures and the “barges” they created, and followed her eyes. She was looking through the middle of the crowd towards a large habitat with a group of small fur-covered creatures.

“Would you like to watch the targlets? They have a very interesting set of social rituals---”

“Huh? Oh, would you look at this!” The Nomad caught sight of the _kretae_ barge and stepped towards it, her reaction now more like what he had initially expected.

“You know what it reminds me of?” She said, just as he mentally prepared to share with her what he had learned about them in preparation for the reception, “The plant spirals that grow on the inside of a whale's fallopian tubes!”

“Indeed?” The biology of space-dwelling life was of significant interest to him.

“Yes! The 'bottom of the tubes'---depending on how gravity is working at the time, you know---is always submerged in this nutrient-rich fluid and the top is dripping with it. The whole scene is a lot like being in a hot, humid, wet forest at the equator of a planet.”

“Those environments are often very rich in life forms of all different types,” he added.

“Oh, it is! Hey, we should play some _Seven Days on the Open Seas_ sometime.”

“What is---”

“It's a game with seven rounds where you are inside a space whale. You have to take care of the whale and keep the space out for seven rounds, and all sorts of fun things happen.”

A new game, one where he could learn about space-dwelling life without the relationship dynamics of a roleplaying game.

“Lolling over litkas zany, you wouldn't believe this one time, Sabbas and I were playing and...”

He suppressed a wave of annoyance. As this was a diplomatic reception, there were universal translators all over the museum to facilitate inter-species communication.

His conversations with Nekae did not necessitate the use of a translator, as he was well-versed in Ancient Vulcan dialects and learned more about Nomad language with every conversation. Now the translator was affecting what he heard in real time, preventing him from jtranslating her for himself. Since she frequently used her own language flamboyantly, employing complex, colorful metaphors, the translator prevented him from actually knowing her word choice.

Out of the extreme side of his visual field he saw Droxine, standing across the room and staring openly at him. He stepped to the side, closer to Nekae who was describing a gameplay outcome that was statistically unlikely. He would no doubt understand her fascination with it more after playing through the game himself.

Nekae turned quickly in a small, restrained motion that he might have missed if he were not standing so close to her. She looked in the marble display next to the _kretae_ barge, which was reflective and held the mirrored image of the High Adviser's daughter from across the room. Turning to look at him, she raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” he said, moving his hand to the position between her shoulder blades and down, to that place in the small of her back, “we should move into the musical portion of the museum.”

“But it will be cold--” she whined back, a fair critique.

She found this amusing.

“I am sure we will be able to keep each other warm.”

He worked to deliver his words with a look like one his father would give his mother. He had a large bank of examples from his own memories to choose from. He observed this odd behavior between them as a child with the discipline of a scientist studying an unexplained phenomenon.

“Huh,” she said, another quirk of the translators.

He steered her towards the door out of the greenhouses, watching Droxine in the corner of his vision as she turned away.

Two birds with one stone.

* * *

 

Sarek stood with Plasus, Ambassadors Endilev, Gav, and Luski, and several Troglyte waiters that hovered a short distance back waiting for the moment one of them was moved by hunger or thirst.

He was instinctively repulsed by the conditions between the Stratos residents and the Troglytes. Ruthlessly suppressing that emotional reaction, he turned his attention to the reception around him.

The High Adviser's daughter was staring at his son. He suppressed another emotion then, a parental instinct that he suspected was shared by many other species. Some of the clan leaders on New Vulcan's High Council suggested that he honor the Salon of Advisers' request and wed his son to the “First Daughter”, citing that as only half-Vulcan, he was not subject to the guidelines on bondings that other Vulcans had to follow.

His son was still not over Nyota Uhura, and the Adviser's daughter was an inappropriate choice in any case.

He entertained no thoughts about the Council's interpretation of planetary law and how it affected his heir.

“That is hardly ethical, as the Carpacians are in no position to benefit from such an arrangement,” Sarek said in response to Luski's proposal. Endilev's antenna twitched and Gav snorted.

He turned his attention to the greenhouses, watching as his son led the Nomad out of the heat and into the main reception hall.

He had a hand on the small of her back and was touching her in a way that surprised Sarek. He knew, of course, that most Nomads were mindblind, and that any tactile contact between his son and his date would not result in inappropriate mental contact.

Even so, the behavior was peculiar. He watched Spock navigate the Nomad Nekae into one of the musical pods, bubbles surrounded by soundproof plastic throughout the room designed so that people could dance to several different musical selections. Each held two-to-three couples.

This entire event was designed as a seduction, and the target had been his son.

Now his son was laying his arms on her shoulders. The height difference was such that the reverse would likely be uncomfortable. The Nomad put her hands on his son's waist.

“Not a narrow interpretation, but one that gets at the spirit of the regulation,” Sarek added, able to both participate fully in the discussion and watch his son's actions discretely.

His son had begun to dance with the Nomad. They continued to speak, heads bent together as if they were conspiring. Something had them going back and forth when the Nomad gave his son a look Sarek recognized all too well.

“There is no profit in an action that will result in unnecessary negotiations between members of the Federation. The time it would take to debate in a Federation Council Session would cost more than the projected gain.”

He suppressed an annoyance at Earth's Ambassador to Vulcan, who was now in his company more than any single Vulcan Aide.

When he turned his attention back to the dance bubble, the body language of both his son and the Nomad had fundamentally changed. Now they looked like they were on alert, as if the whole room had become dangerous.

“Sirs, perhaps we should take this to one of the smaller rooms,” he suggested.

* * *

 

She turned her head to the side and looked down as he rested his arms on her shoulders. He crossed his hands at the wrist behind her head.

“You're used to dancing with humans.” Nekae looked into his eyes and stepped into his space as she made the observation. When she could see that he did not understand, she bounced her shoulders.

He relaxed the muscles in his upper arms and actually rested them on her. His body was heavier and denser than most of the bodies of the individuals he worked with on the Enterprise, but she had Vulcanoid physiology and her shoulders could bear the full weight of him.

They start to dance, swaying back and forth in an easy, simple pattern. They shared the sphere with one other couple, two humans completely engrossed in one another.

“She's stopped looking, you know.”

Before he could deny that he cared, tension he was holding in his forearms, hands, and wrists relaxed.

“Just so you understand me completely, I am displeased that you were not forthcoming with me about the true reason for your invitation,” she continued.

It was always unnerving to him when she brought up ways in which he was not living up to Surak's precepts. More so when she sounded like a Vulcan elder scolding a school-age child.

“The reason I gave you was true. I--”

“---but not complete, even after I requested that you include all relevant information---”

“---how am I to judge what you mean by all the information _you need to know_? That is---”

He abruptly stopped speaking, the look on her face making it clear that he was, as his mother would say, _digging a hole_. At his hip, his communicator buzzed.

“Your side is... noise twitch jazzing?” Her voice was soft, her head bent down as she felt around for his communicator.

“Can you...?”

“Yeah, yes, totally...” He felt her pull his communicator from the belt strap under his dress uniform pants and then it was between them. It was strange to see it in her smaller hand as she flipped it open.

“Spock here.”

“We have your Captain and Doctor.”

The words were unexpected, and had she not had her hand on his waist it is possible she would not have even noticed his reaction. He felt her move in response, getting a firmer grip. Their eyes met and she nodded, squeezing his side in what he interpreted as reassurance.

“Are they injured?” He asked, setting a mental chess board with her position and the kidnapper's. Kirk was his King and the Doctor was the rook. He was, of course, the Queen.

“We're fine, Spock. Just fine.” Kirk's voice sounded normal, and his word choice suggested he was not being unduly coerced.

“I am pleased, Captain. Madam, may I inquire as to your identity?”

“I am the leader of the Disruptors. We represent the interests of the Troglytes.”

As he spoke over the comm, he kept his eyes on the Nomad's. At this he raised a brow and she smiled, obviously pleased at this turn of events. He schooled his features, hoping to communicate that this was not a time to for levity.

“And what are the Troglytes interested in?”

“Equality.”

Spock did not know what to say to that. He wondered briefly why no one in the Federation noticed the obvious class conflict going on here on Ardana before, then went through the list of ambassadors who previously held this post. Tellurite and human.

_The moment Sarek arrived on the planet to open negotiations between Vulcan and Ardana he noticed_ he thought. _And how could he not? It is obvious._

And then she pinched his stomach through his dress uniform and thermal undershirt.

He looked at her, confused. She nodded at the communicator.

“As an officer in Starfleet and as a Vulcan I pledge to do all I can to help Ardana achieve equality.” The Disruptor made several small sounds, barely picked up by the communicator's speakers.

“Am I really to believe that? Everyone knows you are here to join your world to Stratos by marriage.”

Nekae was amused again.

“How may we assist you in this goal? Or,” he added at Nekae's look, “How may we retrieve our crew?”

_Make them sound unimportant. Use generic terms like “crew” and avoid their titles._

“If you are truly willing to do _all you can_ , then convince Droxine to push the Advisers for an honest dialogue between Stratos and the Troglytes.”

Nekae nodded, her head moving up-and-down and a rapid pace.

“I will attempt it.”

The connection was cut, and she turned her head down to put his communicator away.

“I think it is obvious that this has stopped being a party and is now a mission. That's fine, but not unless we are going to be honest about _everything that I need to know_.” He heard the edge in her voice, even with her face turned down. She lifted her head to his chest, but stopped before reaching his face.

“Please know,” he began slowly, using the tone his father would use when attempting to turn his mother's emotions, “that while I was watching the relationship between the Stratos Advisers and the Troglytes, I did not think the situation would amount to more than my making observations.”

She looked up at him then, eyes moving over her face, and he knew she was looking for any sign that he was lying.

“Based on my analysis of the situation,” he continued, hands moving to her shoulders, “I saw no reason to inform you.” He met her gaze for several long moments.

“Empty.” She said curtly, accepting his words as truth, at least for the present. “Then tell me, Beacon, what's the plan?”

Her use of his function in the game gave him an idea that could help him learn more about Nomad culture.

“Perhaps, since this is real life and not a game, you should function as a Bridge instead of as my Navigator.”

“Trust me, the last thing you want to need in this situation is a Bridge.”

* * *

 

McCoy sat on the bench as Kirk paced the room. They were somewhere near the west perimeter wall of the building, with Vanna and a few of the burlier Troglyte guards.

Jim had learned her name, of course, after a brief conversation. There was a part of him that wanted to throttle Jim. _Of all the damn inconvenient times to grow a conscience_ he thought. If the Captain hadn't just started his so-called abstinence, McCoy was certain they would be out of this by now.

“Bones, what are you thinking about?” Jim said, plopping himself down on the bench beside him. He looked over, and decided he hadn't had enough of the local libations for that type of honesty.

“Just going over what we know,” he grumbled. Then Jim was up again, like a shot. That man couldn't do anything slowly.

“Vanna, a question.” He began. When she looked at him like he were chopped liver, he added, “One that might help me better explain to my First Officer how to assist you in obtaining what you seek.”

“Go on,” she said, her own tone the same aristocratic one he'd heard the Advisers using, and McCoy noted that there was very little that made her different from the Stratos city-dwellers.

“Why is it that you, were you to change into one of their garments, could easily pass for someone who grew up in a cloud city, while these guys can't quite pass as easily?” She looked affronted.

“There's no reason to be insulting!” she hissed. Then she seemed to take a good look at the guards. “They just got here a few days ago. 'Reinforcements for the party',” she added, and it sounded like she was doing some sort of impersonation.

“Are you saying that, given enough time, that their eyes would adjust and they would start to act and speak as you do?”

Good man, Jim. He avoided comparing her to the Stratos citizens a second time. Even if he was off the Cassonova routine, he was still charming.

“Yes,” she nodded. Something happened at the door and she excused herself to talk to the guards.

“Bones, I've got an idea.”

“Famous last words...”

“Hear me out! So the Troglytes with the glasses and the less-than-refined manners were only recently allowed up in the clouds. Vanna has been her for longer, and the longer you are here, the smarter and more acclimated you are.”

“That makes sense,” he replied, and this time he really did think through what they knew. “The surface of the planet is hit by their harsh sun, which would drive the people into the caves and mines. That alone could make them sensitive to light. And who knows what kinds of dust they are kicking up down there.”

“My thoughts exactly. Vanna!” he called again, up and striding across the room.

“What do you want now?” she asked, frustration clear in her voice.

“I need to talk to my First Officer again.” She laughed at his request.

“And why should I let you?” she shot back, her hands on her hips.

“Because I think the conditions in the mines are harming you and your fellow Troglytes. If Mr. Spock can prove it, then the Federation will put pressure on the Stratos Salon of Advisers to facilitate moving all Troglytes to the cloud cities to live.”

She brought out his communicator. “If this is a trick...” she said as she flipped it open.

“Spock here.”

“Your Captain wishes to speak with you.”

“Please allow him to do so.” He could almost hear the Vulcan sigh. Maybe he thought she would forget that she had a Starfleet Captain as one of her hostages.

Fat chance of that happening anytime soon.

“Spock,” Jim began, “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to seek out Droxine.”

“That was inevitable,” he said, and even though the speakers McCoy could hear his disappointment.

“And you're going to have to get down to the planet and into the mines. I think the conditions down there are making the Troglytes sick. Take some readings.”

“Captain, while I am pleased you think me prepared enough to always have a tricorder, I would point out that it hardly went with my dress uniform.” Kirk looked over at him and then replied.

“McCoy left his medical tricorder somewhere just off the main reception hall.”

“Understood.”

Now all they had to do was wait.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are best paired with the 3rd season Star Trek: The Original Series Episode The Cloud Minders. If you haven't seen it, check it out!


	14. Whom Gods Destroy Redux, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shifting gears, we are leaving Kirk, Spock, and McCoy on Stratos to see what Uhura, Marcus, and the Rescue Squad are up to on Elba 2. Will they find The Orion Officer?

“Welcome!” Governor Cory, lead administrator and head neuroscientist on Elba 2, stepped out from behind the Transporter console and up to greet them. The console was in the middle of a control room, and Dr. Marcus's mind started to catalog what each station could control.

 _Transporters, shields, tractor beams, ground-to-space defensive weapons, security monitoring, life support... this is too much going on in one place_ she thought to herself.

“Governor Cory, thank you for your hospitality,” she replied for the group as Palmer, Martine, and Cyani stepped off the transporter pads and spread out in the small space. Cory walked around them, circling the consoles without looking at them, his eyes on the wall panel that controlled the force shield.

“Ladies, you don't know what a treat this is for me. It's been too long since I've had some company. The force field's back in place now and that means you four are trapped here.” He smiled and added, “And I'm not accepting any excuses for you not dining with me.”

After the Specialist on the Beirut, Marcus thought she would be more sensitive to a male officer making such a statement, but he genuinely sounded relaxed and not at all like the Beirut's comm's officer.

He didn't sound like he was trying to get under their skirts.

“I wish that we could. I'm afraid we are pressed for time.” Carol smiled the smile she used at diplomatic events alongside her father. Nothing against the Governor, but they needed to get back to Ardana and just the trip was going to take them 8 hours. They were already almost in hour four, and lucky to be making such good time.

“I'm here, Governor, because I think we are in a position to help you.” She stepped forward and continued, “I'm told you have 15 inmates, surely a large number for such a specialized facility. As one of the only inhabitants on Elba 2, I'm sure being responsible for all of them is a challenge.”

“Oh yes. The only other people here are a few orderlies and a nurse. And these are the truly incurable. No amount of medicine or therapy is going to send them anywhere. The most I can do is make it clear that it is impossible for them to leave.”

At that, there was a glint in his eye that took Marcus by surprise. An older man of Euro-Asian descent, the Governor's background was in psychotherapy and neuropharmacology, and his title was more reflective of his role as the decision-maker on the colony than it was any political title.

“I can only imagine...” she said, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

Something about this whole situation was off. Looking up, she caught Cyani's eye and the Security Specialist shook their head.

“Thank you for holding your newest Orion inmate for us. I know that your position relative to the Orion Syndicate makes maintaining good relations especially important to you, so I appreciate you allowing us to confirm her identity.”

“Of course! Business first. This way,” Cory led the way into a web of long, narrow corridors.

“Doctor, a word?” It was Cyani, who had come up to her and was speaking softly. She nodded to the Specialist to continue.

“His body language is way off. He's supposed to be a reclusive neuroscientist working with a small team in the middle of nowhere, but his manners are refined and he is completely comfortable surrounded by four brand new people.”

Marcus nodded. They made a turn into a hall with inmate quarters on each side. One wall of each set of quarters was just a force field, and inmates were starting to get up and look over at them.

“I take it this isn't a sight they get to see every day,” Martine said, making Cory laugh.

“Indeed not. Doctor,” the Governor motioned to one of the first cells, “is this your Orion?”

Dr. Marcus had never met Ensign Gaila, but studied holos and spoke with Lt. Uhura about her in preparation for this mission. The woman in the cell was Gaila, though what she had been through was apparent. Her hair was short, chopped out of necessity and not all that carefully. She was thinner and starting to shiver---meaning she was not able to take in enough calories to jack up her metabolism and heat herself. And the air filtration indicator light was on, which meant she was working hard to blast the whole room with pheremones.

 _She thinks she is going to have to attempt an escape_ Carol thought, and her shoulder rolled, popping her neck and relieving the tension she hadn't even known was there.

“Ensign Gaila.” Marcus addressed her with a sure tone, and the response was immediate. The Orion jumped off her bunk and gave her and her away team an efficient once-over.

“Are you here for me?” Gaila asked.

“Yes,” the Doctor said, keeping her tone light and sure. They'd found the missing Engineer, but something told her it wasn't time to celebrate yet. “We are here under Captain Kirk's orders, executed by Lt. Uhura.”

The Orion beamed, and even with the air filters on Marcus felt lighter. Then the green woman's eyes narrowed.

“They came here for me,” she said, addressing Cory, “They are not a part of your plan. Don't hurt them.”

“Why would he hurt us?” Cyani asked.

“Because he isn't the Governor at all. He's an inmate, and you don't want to know which one.”

It hit her right then. The way he spoke to her, with a tone that was more fatherly than sleezy. How he was so narrowly focused on getting to the force shield and raising it, so unlike how she would expect someone who navigated that control room every day to act. The complete lack of a fight when she told him they were in a rush.

“Captain Garth?” She turned and addressed Cory directly, hoping she wasn't right.

“Yes... that's him... he's changed his shape to look... like me...” the voice, tired and very familiar, came from the end of the hall. Looking, she saw Cory in a cell, bent over and looking exhausted.

“I must say, dearest Carol,” Cory said, hitting a device on his belt and turning himself into Garth of Izar, the former Captain of the U.S.S. Armstrong, “I was a bit disappointed that you didn't ask to see me.”

Captain Garth of the U.S.S. Armstrong was a Starfleet legend. He used to brag about being in the Academy's history books for his tactics at the Battle of Axanar. All of that changed when he was hurt at Antos 3 and transported down to a medical complex on Antos 4 for treatment.

There his injuries drove him mad. He faked a recovery and got past even his Chief Medical Officer. His crew mutinied on the Bridge when he ordered them to fire on the planet.

Her father and the Captain had both been Captains at the same time. They were friends. Garth spent many nights after diplomatic receptions or long days at Starfleet Headquarters in her father's quarters playing 3d chess.

Carol watched in horror as he let all of the inmates out, Gaila included, and their party was quickly surrounded by the most notorious, insane criminals in the Federation.

“Marta, my dear,” he called, and the other Orion prisoner danced over to him. Unlike Gaila she was at her peak physically, and had been here for long enough to look well-rested and well-fed.

“Yes, my Lord Garth?” she purred.

“Watch her,” he pointed at Gaila, “and make sure none of her perfume gets on our male crew.”

Marta tilted her head to one side, canted her hips to the other, and pouted.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“You called her,” she pouted at Dr. Marcus, “your dearest.” She then made a childish face at Carol.

“My dear,” he said again, this time patiently, as if he were talking to a child, “Dr. Marcus here is the daughter of an old, dear friend. Even now, I couldn't have feelings for her. I knew her when she was a baby.”

“Oh,” Marta replied lightly.

“Now gentlemen,” Garth said, addressing the bulky Andorian Bysahr Th'thelnehr and the Tellurite Tragrarg Praall, both dangerous criminals on their own worlds and throughout the Federation, “escort our guests to the banquet hall.” Then he turned to Marcus.

“I told you I wouldn't accept any excuses.”

* * *

 

“Steady as she goes Sir,” Sulu said from the helm.

Uhura didn't favor him with a response and, when he looked up, she absolutely did not smile at him.

They were fighting right now.

Per Starfleet regulations, Sulu was the only officer currently on the Bridge with completed Command training . That meant that he should be sitting at the Conn, using the controls from the Captain's chair, and issuing orders.

Instead he was at the Helm (citing that it was the Captain's prerogative to chose which station he wanted to work at any given moment) and giving her status updates. And calling her “Sir” because he knew she would never let him call her anything inappropriate.

Every time he said “Sir”, it came out like “Captain”.

Since Hannity was already backing her up on comms and Uhura wasn't about to take the Conn formally, she stood next to the Captain's chair.

“Any activity Hannity?” she asked, turning her head.

“No, Sir,” Hannity replied, confirming her traitor status. Uhura clenched her jaw to keep from smiling, but knew Hannity was a good enough Communications officer to see through her efforts.

“Since the asylum raised its force shield, which was 13 minutes ago, there's been no discernible activity down there.”

“Thank you Lieutenant.”

She looked around at the Bridge, and was surprised at how small it felt. Every station was occupied, and that meant the wall consoles were lined with people. Every seat was taken.

Hannity told her on the way to the Bridge that the word had gotten out about their rescue mission. When people learned that they might recover Ensign Gaila, Alpha shift crew started trying to hold onto their stations through the Beta shift. This meant that there were nearly two shifts worth of people working at once, making the ship less of a long network of offices and more of a bustling city in space.

A city she was responsible for, in action if not truly by regulation.

“Call coming in from Elba 2, Sir.”

“On screen.”

Dr. Marcus stood in front of her in the control room on Elba 2. She could see the transporter pad in the background of the transmission.

“Report.” Uhura was short with her, scared of what she might say if she gave herself more freedom. This was the moment when she would learn whether months of work and then days of rescue planning were for nothing.

“We have confirmed the identity of the prisoner. She is Ensign Gaila.”

The whole Bridge erupted in cheering and applause. No one was more thankful for that than Nyota. The cheering masked her own reaction, a mix of ecstatic joy and draining relief, and after a few moments caught up in it she felt a shock of self-consciousness. She was Captaining a starship, and no matter what she _had to stay in control of herself_. Looking around, she quickly came to the conclusion that the only person who'd seen her lose her composure was Marcus.

“Excellent work Doctor. Are you ready for beam out?”

“Yes. The others are coming along behind me.”

That wasn't what she had hoped the other woman would say, but she took it in stride.

“And on the next installment of The Enterprise Chronicles...” Uhura began.

“We don't have time for this. Beam me aboard.” Doctor Marcus insisted.

She kept her face still, but inside red alerts were going off. She forced herself not to look at Marcus's facial markers. She stopped herself from going back through their conversation to look at the Doctor's body language.

“I'm just sticking to the protocol you insisted on for penal colony beam ups.”

“Truly, the sooner I get up the sooner the rest of the party can return with Ensign Gaila.” Now the Doctor was starting to get frustrated.

 _Now she knows how much I care about Gaila personally. When she first told me it didn't seem like she knew_ she thought.

“We included it in the away mission briefing, so I cannot disregard it now,” Uhura reminded her. “Just tell me what you think will happen next and I'll authorize your beam up.”

“Just testing you Lieutenant,” Dr. Marcus said crisply, her back straightening. “Marcus out.”

Walking forward, she stared in shock at the screen. It was now just a star field.

_Something is happening down there..._

* * *

 

The Enterprise away team was seated at a long black table in the “banquet hall”. Really, it was a small Rec room with black lacquer medical bay tables and replicated paper decorations, converted into some bizarre parody of a dinner party. On one end sat Marcus, placed there by Garth and under Marta's constant glare. On the other side was Gaila, blasting her pheremones in an effort to keep the focus of the other inmates on her and away from the other Enterprise staff.

Cyani sat in the middle, scanning the crowd and looking for any possible escape. First, they watched everyone in relation to Gaila and Marta, taking roll on who was susceptible to their pheremones and who was not.

All of the men except Tragrarg were beside themselves with lust. And all of the women except Martine were hostile and irritated.

 _Martine is susceptible to masculine and feminine wiles_ Cyani noted, tucking that information back for later.

Cyani was, of course, affected too. They caught their mind wandering again and firmly put their thoughts back on the mission at hand.

When they were first beamed aboard, Cyani saw how Marcus looked over the control room. _She knows what each panel controls, or has a good idea. So does Palmer_ they thought. Both officers could work on getting comms and transporters up if they could all get to the control room.

“I do apologize for the inhospitable introduction, Carol.” Garth continued. Apparently he and Admiral Marcus had been friends. So far, he had catered to the Doctor and was currently trying to convince her to join him.

“Garth, please don't do this. We are expected back at the rendezvous in less than four hours. We are already being missed.” The Doctor's words were pleading, but her tone was calm. This was not the first time Cyani saw the signs that Marcus had intelligence training.

“Your concern for me is touching dearest,” he continued, “which is why I've decided to extend an invitation to you and your fellows to join my crew. An olive branch of friendship...”

The Andorian Bysahr and the Tellurite Tragrarg were doing some weird tricks for them that reminded Cyani of old Earth circuses. Tragrarg was walking on his hands while Bysahr held his feet, steering him around the room as if the Tellurite were a wheelbarrow.

“I thought that we were friends,” Marcus continued, holding Garth's attention, “but after my father's death I heard nothing from you.”

“Oh, how I wanted to reach out! But by then I was imprisoned here. And when I told them I needed to contact Starfleet Headquarters they laughed at me! Oh, but who's laughing now...”

Behind them the other Orion, Marta, was looming and seething. Garth's explanation earlier only temporarily soothed her, and she was taking this back-and-forth between Garth and Marcus as if it were a personal attack.

The Andorian and Tellurite stood and bowed, and everyone clapped.

As they cleared the center of the room, Marta strode onto it with the grace of a ballerina.

“Now I will do an oral recitation of one of my newest poems---” Marta began, only to be cut off by Gaila.

“Oh come on now! They don't want to hear you do Godot or Shakespeare or whoever else it was you were about to plagiarize.”

Cyani scanned around the room. All the male inmates were captivated. The crew were annoyed---save for Martine, who looked confused and vaguely concerned for Gaila.

Garth was loving it. Like any narcissistic sociopath, he assumed they were fighting over him and _**loved**_ being fought over.

Cyani caught Gaila's eye for just a moment. As she continued to taunt Marta she walked slowly towards the Security Specialist.

“No one asked **you** anything.” Marta spat her words back at Gaila, turning from a sensual ballerina into a deadly cobra as she too started to circle.

“I Know! If they'd asked me _you would still be in a cell_.” Gaila accentuated every last word and Marta looked for all the world like she were about to strike.

“LADies Ladies!” Garth stood, arms out as he called them together like a true circus conductor. “Let us not allow this moment to turn into a petty brawl. We are here to enjoy ourselves! If you must clash with one another, perhaps you could compete in some way that would amuse the rest of us.”

The male inmates immediately started throwing out lewd suggestions. This situation was going from bad to worse, and Cyani prepared to rise.

“Now now!” Garth reined the others in with just two words. “Ladies, what are your talents?”

“My Lord,” Marta began, “I'm beautiful! And I'm intelligent too. I write poetry, and I paint marvelous pictures. And I am a wonderful dancer.”

Gaila laughed. She started to number off with her fingers.

“One: Your beauty is debatable. I've been on a shuttle, a colony planet, a starship, and a penal colony this week and my curls might be short, but at least they aren't flat! Two: I'm a starship engineer, so brilliant that my old ship dispatched a team of badass bitches to come get me, whereAS you're not even smart enough to realize there are no paints or brushes here--”

As she counted off, the inmates noise level rose as they booed and cheered each time she dissed Marta.

“---Three: We've already covered how no one wants to hear you read old dead Humans' verse. Skipping Four because I still don't see your canvas and Five, now that I'm here these boys aren't going to want to watch your jerky dancing anymore.”

“Ah! A dance contest is a wonderful idea!” Garth declared, waving his hands. In moments the inmates had cued up some music.

Marta began, working her arms up and down her body as she undulated herself around the room. She was in a blue and green garment that tied on at the neck and covered very little. Her arms and legs were adorned with bells and her movements were accompanied by the light, magical sounding tinkling of bells. She captured the attention of each inmate in turn and then turned to Cyani.

The Specialist held their breath as Marta was in their space and all-but on them. It was as if they were getting a lap dance without the dancer actually sitting on their lap. Then Marta hissed as Gaila took the floor.

All of the shivering and frailness from before was shaken off and Gaila worked the room like a Queen. She made a beeline for Garth himself, prancing across the room, and danced back and forth suggestively between Marcus and Garth.

Marta was off them in a heartbeat, pushing her way up to reclaim Garth and chasing Gaila off. Gaila moved down the table with the away team, dancing briefly on each one in turn.

Cyani watched as she soothed Martine, spoke softly to Palmer, and then slid against their back.

“Marcus wants to take advantage of the next distraction to escape,” Gaila whispered in their ear.

“Good idea, but we have no idea how Garth broke out. The last thing we want is for him to escape to the Enterprise.”

“I'll find out how,” she shot back, continuing her lap dance. Marta had moved on to the human inmates and looked for all the world like she was echoing Gaila and claiming her “team”.

Gaila tossed her hair, danced down the center of the room, and sidled up to Bysahr.

Cyani forced themselves to look away from the dance and saw that Marcus and Garth were distracted too.

“Honestly, I don't understand, Lord Garth,” Dr. Marcus said the title slowly, as if willing to say it but still judging him for using it, “why you expected your crew to fire on the homeworld of the Antosians. They are a peaceful people---”

“---who helped to heal me when I was dying and beyond my ship's medical abilities. And I was going to return the favor and make them first in our brave new universe. They should have welcomed me.”

“In so doing you betrayed the Federation you vowed to serve and the principles you swore to uphold. What made you do that?” Cyani felt a burn in their chest and realized that Marcus earnestly wanted to know, and not just because Garth was her father's friend.

She wanted to know why Garth chose the same path as her own father.

“Cory thinks it was because of the injury but it was not. Truth is, the injury just helped me reach my full potential. All Captains reach the point where they understand their power. And while we are learning all that the universe has to offer, Starfleet would have us content to grub away like some ants on a somewhat larger than usual anthill. Command is a heady drug, my dear. I'm sure you know that, if you are out there on a ship with all these new Captains. If one of them hasn't taken a taste yet, you can be sure they will eventually.”

Cyani took a deep breath and then there was a green goddess in their lap.

“He can change his shape!” Gaila whispered in their ear. “He changed himself to look like Cory, and when he was let out overpowered the guards.”

She was up just as quickly, and the music rose as the two Orions circled each other in the center of the room. They slowly worked around each other, for all the world like they were lovers instead of enemies, and ended the song in a sensual embrace.

The room erupted in applause, though the Enterprise crew only politely clapped.

“Lovely!” Garth declared. “Oh, that we could indulge forever in pleasantries.” Then he turned and motioned to the doorway, where two humanoid inmates wheeled in a giant chair and medical console.

Locked in the chair was the real Governor Cory.

“Garth---” Marcus was cut off by the former Captain.

“---now now, you've made it very clear you won't betray the Federation and join me willingly, a loyalty I will be glad to win for myself, I assure you. But since you have to fight, I will give you an honorable excuse to surrender.” He looked at one of the humans and nodded.

The inmate turned the machine on, and a circular pad near Cory's head started to light up and swirl.

The Governor's face contorted in pain and he twisted around, struggling to break free and move his head away from the coiling light. Martine gasped.

“This was a chair used for therapeutic purposes,” Garth explained, “but I improved on the original design. It didn't cause pain at all before.”

“Garth no!” Dr. Marcus was out of her chair now, obviously distressed. “Stop this!”

He motioned to one of the inmates and they hit a control, temporarily stopping the pain.

“Tell me what is going to happen next on The Enterprise Chronicles!”

The question was so out of place that everyone seemed confused for a moment. And then Cyani realized what he was asking.

 _They must have set a beam up code_ they thought _something you couldn't just give away. Something you would have to explain, or to know well, to answer._

The Enterprise Chronicles was a play put on by the ship's amateur theater company. They did holiday plays, experimental pieces, but were known best for their ongoing soap opera _The Enterprise Chronicles_.

And if the password was just a fact about the play, or a piece of trivia about the players, then it could be tortured out of someone.

But if it were something that relied on a body of knowledge, like predicting what could happen next, that wasn't something you could pressure someone to reveal. It required a knowledge of characters and back story. And whatever was revealed under duress would be useless because there would be no way to figure out if it was actually a plausible prediction, or just a message he was passing on to the ship.

“You tried to beam aboard the Enterprise without us.” Marcus accused him, trying to delay him starting up the chair again.

“And I will again. You are clearly not ready to join me.” He nodded and Cory began twisting and groaning again.

“And next time on The Enterprise Chronicles...” he began.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And don't worry, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy will return momentarily. While their mission mirrors the TOS episode The Cloud Minders, Dr. Marcus and company are on Elba 2, the Federation's asylum from TOS's Whom Gods Destroy. If you want to see Garth ranting and Marta dancing from Spock Prime's POV, check the episode out.


	15. Whom Gods Destroy Redux, Part 2

“This is getting BORing!” Garth declared, his voice almost raw from the intense back-and-forth he'd been having with Dr. Marcus.

Cyani just watched as Marcus tried every angle she could think of to get him to stop torturing Cory. Each time she engaged him in an argument he stopped the chair, and so she said anything and everything to give the Governor a break.

First, the doctor described what _The Enterprise Chronicles_ were, told him about the players, about their other works... everything but names of characters, past scenes, or anything he could use as an answer.

Next she had him stop the chair to undermine his method, laying out all the ways she could trick him into passing messages back to the ship.

Then she got him to pause the device while she walked him through what he would do next. Even if he could get on the ship, she claimed, he would never be able to take the Enterprise.

This was a long break for Cory, as Garth went on and on about how easy it would be for him to take a Starfleet vessel from the inside. He listed half a dozen ways before he remembered the Governor was even there.

Then she went on a fishing expedition, claiming that even with one ship, he couldn't take the entire fleet.

But while Garth was a narcissistic sociopath, he was also a brilliant former Captain. He had come to the conclusion Cyani was dreading.

“Carol, Carol, Carol... while this has been an entertaining interlude, your diversions are starting to grow thin. And while I could theoretically torture the Governor forever since this machine causes no real damage, I find myself growing weary of even his contortions.”

Garth then looked around the room, and Cyani saw the face of the man who won the Battle of Axanar. Behind his eyes they could see his mind working, gears turning as he came up with another plan.

“Tragrarg, put her in the chair. Marta, lead the rest of our guests out of here. It's time Carol and I had a 'heart-to-heart'.”

Cyani met Palmer's eyes and then rushed the Tellurite, diving for his midsection in an attempt to capitalize on his top-heavy body and bring him down. Palmer got behind a human guard and hit him with both fists in the center of his back. The others started fighting too, only to be quickly stopped and drug from the room.

Cyani was thrown into the hallway by the Tellurite, crashing into Martine who was already on the floor. Cyani scrambled to their feet and helped Martine up.

Taking a quick look around they counted all of the away team save Carol, and all of the inmates except Tragrarg---who had returned to the Rec room---and Garth himself.

_He was expecting a fight, so we gave him one_ Cyani thought to themselves. Looking over at Gaila, they nodded. It was time to put their plan into motion.

The inmates shoved them down the hall, retracing their steps backwards through the asylum complex. Up ahead was the Control Room, and past that were the inmate cells. Cyani knew that their chances of escape dropped considerably if they were locked in the cells with Elba 2's personnel.

In front, Marta was fuming. The back-and-forth between Marcus and Garth left her enraged, and being ejected from the room only made it worse. Now she had appointed herself the “leader of the rest” and was in the front issuing orders to the others.

“Take them to the cells and seal them in,” the Orion ordered, playing with her hair and sparing a glance back towards the Rec Room.

“Buzzkill!” Gaila yelled from the back of the group.

Everyone turned, and the men acted like they'd forgotten she was there. Cyani knew why---Marta was pumping out pheremones like it was going out of style and the air was thick.

Now Gaila was doing the same, and her insult had gotten all the men in the room to turn to her and take a deep breath.

Marta cut through the hall, slicing down the center as she strode towards Gaila.

“I have had enough out of---”

The two collided, hands going to throats and eyes and hair as the two snarled and fought.

The men started to jeer and crowd around the two Orion woman, whose fighting also looked vaguely like writhing to men with heads full of musk.

Cyani shook their own head, rubbed their eyes, and then nodded to the others. The rest of the Enterprise crew had stepped back, forming a circle behind the ring of inmates. They took positions and then each woman took down two inmates, one after the other.

Cyani waited until it was done and then cracked the two prisoners in front of them together, catching them under their arms as they fell.

“Doctor Marcus!” Martine shouted and then Cyani was spinning around. Dr. Marcus slowed, hands drawn to her hips, and then stopped. She was breathing heavily.

_Why is she breathing heavy? She works out every day, and there wasn't enough time for the machine to have had that much of an effect._

“I escaped but we don't have much time. The control room!” she shouted, and Cyani ran up. The Security Specialist took her arm and raised it over their shoulder, rising to support her.

“I've sealed the doors,” Martine said as they piled into the control room.

“Bringing the Enterprise up on comms now,” Palmer added.

The comm screen formed in the middle of the room. Sulu was standing next to the Captain's chair and Uhura was at the helm next to Chekov.

“Beam us up! It's an emergency. The prisoners have escaped and they'll be on our heels.” Marcus ordered and explained, standing without assistance now.

“We're prepared to,” Uhura responded. “On the next installment of _The Enterprise Chronicles_...”

The room was silent, waiting for Marcus to answer.

_She was breathing heavy because he's been confined to a cell. He isn't used to running..._ Cyani thought.

They drew down on Garth, and quickly the others did the same. Garth lunged at Palmer, who shot him at close range on stun.

When he kept coming she reeled back, surprised, and hit her thighs on the center console.

He grabbed her and twisted, putting himself at the console and her in front of him, a human shield. He hit the comms, cutting off their signal with Enterprise.

“Now now ladies,” Garth said, still looking and sounding just like Carol Marcus, “my men are awake. They'll be here shortly, and if you kill me you'll never find her.”

Then the doors opened and men poured into the room.

* * *

 

Sulu did not laugh. He did not curse. Looking down at the top of her head as she sat in his chair and tossed her ponytail he refused to smile.

They were fighting right now. She had stolen his chair.

“Tell me about the forcefield, Mr. Chekov,” she said, her tone still one of Command.

“The worceweild is 20 cubic weet thick at the poles, at its thwickest. Here, at the mindpwoint it is 5 cubic weet.”

“Thinking about sending down a shuttle?” Sulu asked.

“No, they would still have to walk for too long in the toxic environment for that to be practical, and nothing short of the ships phasers is going to penetrate the penal colony dome.” Nothing in her tone was diminished even one bit from sitting at the helm on the lower level of the Bridge.

This is what he loved about Uhura. She was as mischievous as he imagined a little brother would be, stealing his chair like she'd won something and forcing him back to the Conn---all while being as efficient as ever.

“We're being hailed from the dome!” Hannity said and at the same time both he and Uhura shouted.

“On Screen!”

It was the asylum control room again, but this time everyone on the away team was there.

And standing next to them was an Orion woman with short, curly red hair.

“Beam us up! It's an emergency. The prisoners have escaped and they'll be on our heels.” Marcus shouted. The others looked on edge, and that's when he noticed the small room was sealed.

“We're prepared to,” Uhura said, and Sulu noticed her voice was less commanding. _That really must be Ensign Gaila_ he thought. “On the next installment of _The Enterprise Chronicles_...”

Marcus leaned back, as if she were waiting for someone to answer.

Then Security Specialist Cyani drew their phaser, pointing it at Marcus. Everyone else quickly followed their lead, and Sulu had to wonder what was going on down there.

Then Marcus lunged, snarling at Palmer who promptly shot her. Instead of falling, she continued after the Lieutenant and the women fought on the console for a second before Marcus pulled the other blond in front of her.

Then the screen went dark.

“Red Alert!” Uhura ordered, bolting out of the chair and stepping back up to the Conn.

The two Bridge officers looked at each other, framing the Captain's chair as the walls around them were bathed in red.

“Sirs. The channel is open again.” Hannity broke the silence.

“Keep the line muted.” Uhura ordered.

“I don't understand. Why would he open the channel and then not want to talk to us?” Sulu said, mostly to her but loud enough for other Bridge crew to jump in with ideas.

He had learned from Captain Kirk that the best ideas came from everyone on the Bridge working together.

“I don't think he left it on...” Uhura said, pacing the length of the Bridge with her arms behind her back. He held back another smile as she continued to pace, issuing orders.

“...Chekov, do something for me. I want you to use the sound data that I'm feeding into the Science station and the map of asylum. Use the volume of the sound to calculate the away team's distance from the control room comms. I want to know exactly where they are.”

“Aye Sair,” and Sulu watched as his friend collapsed onto his screens, diving headfirst into the problem. After a few moments he was up and weaving through people to the Science station.

“Scuse me Scuse me scuse...” he sat while a crewman was still trying to get out of the way, squeezing his small body into the even smaller space to access the library computers.

“Hannity, boost the comms. We might be in the control room, but I want to be able to hear them no matter how far away they walk.” Uhura added. She snatched a padd from a yeoman and started to sketch out something with the stylus. He walked over to her.

“What are you thinking?”

“The comms are on. Chekov is going to create a 3d display using the comms like an ancient sonar signal. If we can create a 3d picture of where they are---” she tipped the padd towards him, and showed him a primitive drawing of a room with stick figures spread throughout the space “---and then tag each lifesign with their voices---” as she spoke, she labeled each of the stick figures _Gaila, Marcus, Martine..._ “---we should be able to target them for beam out.”

“But to beam them out, their shields would have to be down,” Sulu said, thinking he was going to disappoint her. He was thrown off when she smiled.

“Theirs are,” she said, pointing to his helm controls. “All we have to do is lower ours.”

* * *

 

The away team was paraded back into the Rec Room, which has been transformed again. There was a black table and chairs set up at the front of the room, and in the center the therapeutic-turned-torture chair had been decorated with replicated flowers and streamers.

Doctor Carol Marcus was still strapped in the chair.

“GOOD Good!” Garth proclaimed, throwing his hands wide as he walked up to address her. She kept her face focused on his, even while out of the corner of her eye she watched the away team file back in, making a row on her left side.

“Captain Garth,” she began. He turned sharply to her, his eyes wide.

“Lord Garth!” he corrected her with a roar, “Once the coronation is complete, you'll have no more grounds to doubt my status.”

She looked around at the spectacle he had the inmates creating around them. The inmates had lined themselves up on her other side, and Marta was waiting just outside the door. The Orion prisoner was staring daggers at her.

“My lord,” a human inmate said, and Garth moved so that a gold rug could be rolled out, ending at her feet.

“Let the ceremony begin...” he murmured, leaving the room.

Some music began, a recording of a horn, and Garth walked back into the room, this time with Marta at his side. She was holding a pillow with a metal crown sitting on it. They walked right up to Marcus's chair, through the tunnel of bodies created by the away team on one side and the inmates on the other. They moved to frame her, standing on either side of her chair.

“Well,” Garth starts as the music recedes, “since there is no one here mighty enough to perform this ceremony, we'll perform it ourselves. Therefore, we hereby proclaim that I am Lord Garth, Master of the Universe.”

As he spoke, he crowned himself.

“And we designate our beloved Marta to be our Consort.” He turned to her and leaned over Carol to fasten one of his medals on a chain around the Orion's neck. Marta smiled coyly and kissed him on the cheek.

“And, as any proper Lord has needs far beyond what just a wife could see to, we designate Gaila our Concubine.” As he spoke, he walked away from the throne and down the row. When he got to Gaila he make a big show of looking her up and down, ending it with a wink.

“Ugh...” Gaila vocalized, clearly done with any flirtatious pretense.

“And we further designate Doctor Carol Marcus to be our Heir Apparent.” Walking back up, he knelt at the foot of the chair.

“One day, my dearest girl, you'll why all of this was inevitable. Even as recalcitrant as you are, you are still like a daughter to me. I know that one day you will be ready to shake off the flimsy hold the Federation has on you and join me.” He rose again, this time balancing his crown.

“Whatdyou mean? What are you planning to do?”

Marcus was shocked. Martine was the last voice she expected to hear raised, and true enough when she turned to look the Specialist had her fists clenched in fear.

Then the Specialist turned and elbowed Palmer.

“He doesn't have a plan,” Palmer added, sounding uncertain, “he's just off his meds. He'll collapse anytime now.”

_What in heaven's name are they doing?!?_ Marcus thought.

_**Cyani, say something!**_ A voice came from the speaker system embedded in the walls.

It was Lt. Uhura.

“Get us the hell out of here!” Cyani shouted and Carol felt the transporter beam engulf her. Then she hit the transporter pad, having fallen from her seated position. Cyani was at her side, helping her up.

“Thank you, Specialist.”

“Report!” It was Uhura's voice, piped through the comms on the transporter console. Marcus strode off the padd and up to the console, nodding to the transporter officer as he punched the comms.

“Away team has been recovered. The rescue of Ensign Gaila was a success. On Elba 2 there was a prison break, and the staff are confined.” Under her feet, she felt the warp engines engage.

“We've already messaged Starfleet. They are sending support personnel to retake the asylum.”

“Lt. Uhura, may I?” Sulu sounded polite, and the Doctor could only imagine the time the two of them must have had on the Bridge.

“Of course.”

“Away team report to Medical. Lt. Uhura, you are relieved.”

“Meet you on Deck 8!” Gaila's voice made Carol jump. The green woman practically shouted, and then ran out of the transporter room and down the corridor.

“Did she just, by any chance, run like a mad woman for the turbolift?” Uhura asked.

“Yes. Yes she did.”

Sulu laughed and on the comms Carol could hear the turbolift doors swish in the background.

“Okay, now,” Marcus began slowly, nodding as she spoke, “You all are going to explain to me what just happened.”

“I did it!” Martine exclaimed, jumping and then bouncing on her heels as if she were just unable to contain her joy.

“You did this...” the Doctor repeated back to her.

“When we were all fighting in the control room and the crazy Captain turned off the comms and all the men rushed in and everyone was all 'Ah Ah Ah!'---I snuck over and turned the comms back on. _**And**_ I lowered the shields.”

Everyone was beaming, and Cyani stepped off the transporter pad next to Martine.

“Good job, jay,” the Specialist said, cuffing the smaller woman lightly on the arm.

“And then...” Carol continued because she wasn't quite done working it through yet.

“...and then we all had to talk so the Bridge could get a transporter lock.” Palmer finished.

“Oh.” Marcus thought about it for a moment and then just sighed, glad it was all over. “Alright, you heard the Lieutenant. Everyone to Medical.”

“Not so fast, Doctor,” the Transporter officer stopped her. “First, what do you think will happen next on _The Enterprise Chronicles_?”

* * *

 

The turbolift opened on Deck 8 and Nyota Uhura stood face-to-face with her best friend.

“Move it, Sister!” the Orion pushed in, sealed the door, and then tore off the plate, pulling some additional wiring off with the plastic screen.

“Gaila!” Nyota cried, and for a moment they are back at the Academy sneaking through the student dorm gates after a night out past curfew.

Then Gaila stood and they really were face-to-face. Nyota looked at her friend, cataloging hollowed cheeks, a waist tapering in the wrong direction, and then realizing what's missing.

“Oh, your _hair_ ,” Nyota whispered, reaching out to touch the uneven ends.

“It'll grow back...” Gaila murmured, eyes narrowed. “Something's different about you what is it what is it?” Her eyes flicked back and forth, first over her friend's face, then down her body.

Then she leaned in and sniffed, taking a long, deep breath.

“Nyota, what happened?” Her blue eyes were wide, threatening tears.

Uhura knew Gaila knew. Gaila always knew about Spock, from the first day she caught herself thinking he was attractive in an aloof, painfully awkward sort of way to the first night back at her dorm when their fingers had touched and she was sad it wasn't a kiss instead and thrilled at the same time.

Gaila knew, so Nyota didn't have to tell her. Spock's confidence was never broken, and she could still talk to someone about it.

Nyota hadn't spoken to anyone about Spock for over a year.

“You're... alone now...”

Hearing Gaila say it made it real it a way that T'Lok reinforcing it telepathically over and over had not. She just nodded.

The she was being hugged in that awkward, over-hard way Gaila had.

Then it wasn't hard.

Then her back was against the turbolift wall. Two green hands held her face and she was kissed for the first time in far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus endeth the Whom Gods Destroy Redux. Next, we're back to Kirk, Spock, and McCoy on Stratos...


	16. The Cloud Minders Redux, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we are back with Kirk, Spock, and McCoy on Stratos!

Her hand put pressure on his waist, and he let himself be steered away from the entrance. The two dancing humans left the bubble, and for a time he and the Nomad were alone.

“I do not understand how I am to simulate the role of a Beacon when we cannot be in telepathic contact.”

“Not all Beacons are telepaths.”

They moved around the room and as the music increased its tempo the lazy circle they were making turned into an elegant figure 8.

Spock's eyes flicked up as two Ardanans entered the bubble and started to dance. When Nekae did not immediately reduce their dancing radius to accommodate the second couple he gave her a sharp look.

“I am also at loss as to how we are to make contact with Droxine at this juncture,” he continued, and he could swear that she smirked.

“You shouldn't have been so mean to her. She _obviously_ made an effort.” The smirk was confirmed, as was a gloating tone. Her eyes bounced, drawing his attention to the bubble itself and her uncomfortable conclusion: this entire event was Droxine's way of expressing her desire to bind herself to him, and her world to his.

His father had toured the museum at the start of the negotiations, and over subspace had told Spock about the art. Then he'd received his packet in preparation for the event and the tour guide included dozens of additional exhibits. Without any alteration the museum would have been suitable for this event, yet nearly everything they had seen so far---save the hallway they walked up at the entrance---had been added for the reception.

The “hot houses” were at an ideal Vulcan temperature. The art also showcased all manner of scientific endeavors, including marine biology, animal behavior, physics---he was still fascinated at how they got the flame going on the ice without any additional mechanical parts---and then there were the music bubbles. His appreciation for music would have been easy to learn---he was the musical accompaniment for the The Enterprise Players and had been involved in a long string of musical groups, events, and competitions throughout his life---and the bubbles filtered out the other noise for him, making it seem like he were in a small room with only three other people.

He doubted the Ardanan couple would be here were he dancing with Droxine.

Beside them the couple shifted out of pace with their dance, and Spock narrowed his eyes. Unclasping his hands from where they were crossed behind her neck, he drew them down to take hold of her shoulders and pull her close. Her head turned until her ear was at his shoulder and her mouth almost at his neck.

In her next instep she rose on her toes and when she stopped her lips were at the shell of his ear.

“They are listening to us,” she whispered, her voice at 10.2 decibels.

The gesture was shockingly intimate for him, especially when others were observing them.

“Confirmed,” he replied shortly.

She lowered herself back on her heels and they continued to dance.

_At 10.2 decibels the Ardanans struggled to understand her_ Spock thought to himself. _Perhaps there is a volume at which we could converse where they could not hear at all._

After a few moments, he felt it was safe to test his theory.

“Your shoes are quite attractive,” he complemented, nodding slightly as his words came out at .2 decibels.

Nekae glanced down, her hair brushing against his dress uniform over his chest and arm, an action he noted though his eyes were turned to the Ardanan couple. They looked over, but not down.

“They can't hear us.”

She mirrored his volume, and Spock could not quite tell whether the Ardanans even knew they were still conversing.

“My theory was correct.”

“See, we don't need to be bound for you to serve me well, Beacon. Kudos to you for creative thinking.”

She used words like _serve_ and _bound_ as if she did not know their more significant meanings.

Again he was frustrated at the universal translators, which kept him from knowing her true word choice.

“Tell me,” she started, adopting his softer whisper, “during your father's weeks of negotiations, did he take breaks during the talks?”

“Presumably. He does not need them, but the Ardanans are biologically more like humans than Vulcans, and in an 8 hour period need food, water, and breaks to relieve themselves.”

“Then I have an idea about Droxine.” As she mentioned the name of the First Daughter, Spock's eyes flicked back up to the couple dancing around them. They were still attempting to listen, but had not heard anything of interest.

“Go on.”

“Captain Kirk and Bones went that way out of the main reception hall,” she said, her use of the word _Bones_ as though it were actually his name a bit jarring, “so whatever you are supposed to recover is probably down there. And if it is like the hall we went down, there will be a discrete door for the excretions closet.”

_At least there are no translators in the mines_ he thought.

“I'll duck in and you can find the _tricorder_. As soon as you are alone, she will approach you.”

His shoulders tensed again and this seemed to please her. She ducked her head to hide her face.

“Never fear. I'll come right over and then I'll Navigate us.”

“A sound plan.”

They danced for a song more in silence. As a crescendo softened into a pause between compositions he felt her hands squeeze his waist again. Stopping, he released her shoulders and moved one hand to the small of her back as the other punched the release lock. The bubble opened and they both paused, ears shocked by the return of all the noise from the reception.

“We've got this.”

As she spoke her shoulders squared and then he had to stride to keep up with her as she shot across the floor, making her way to the hall just off the larger room. She slowed down as they got to the walls of the space, where the sound was partially absorbed by drapes and furniture.

“I'll only be a minute,” she said, though her louder volume (32.2 decibles) indicated that her words were a part of the ruse. He nodded and she ducked into the restroom.

_I'll need to adjust our covert communication volume to compensate for the additional environmental noise._

As he scanned the hall for the tricorder, he recalculated the decibels to the hundredth place for each of the voice levels necessary for their ruse ( _private: 1.58 db, private, but meant to be noticable: 15.26 db, whisper meant to be heard: 32.25 db, conversation with others: 62.84 db_ ). He was quickly able to locate Dr. McCoy's medical tricorder under one of the stone benches. He retrieved it and then turned it over in his hands.

Had he not already known the Captain and Doctor had been forcibly moved and were now being held hostage by the “Disruptors”, finding the tricorder this way might have caused him some distress.

“Mr. Spock, are you enjoying the interaction between the _yalerti_ bugs and the flowering _gharthak_ trees?”

Droxine had stepped into the spot he had unconsciously made for Nekae, and for a moment he wondered how the Nomad would successfully keep the Advisor's daughter here when she returned.

“It is interesting how the buds seem to know when a bug is approaching and open in anticipation,” he responded, his tone as neutral as he could manage.

“The plant is responsive to the insect's needs. In that way, even though they are very different, the insect and the plant are ideally suited for one another's company.”

“That's subtle.” Nekae was between them then, and though her words were oppositional she smiled at Droxine.

“As are you.” Droxine's reply was quick as she stepped back to make room for the Nomad next to him.

Nekae turned then and looked at him, leaning towards his side. She worked her hand under his elbow and slid her arm into his.

“I was hoping we would see you again. I have so many questions about this place.”

Her use of the plural pronoun “we” was claiming and among Vulcans it would have been more than enough to signal a rival to back off. Her physical claiming would be seen as gratuitous to the point of being offensive.

He noted that Droxine seemed irritated but resolute as ever, and reminded himself that they were not among Vulcans.

He looked down at Nekae with the indulgent look his father sometimes gave his mother, even in public.

“I would be delighted to answer. Please--” Dorxine motioned for them to continue, and they moved towards a part of the museum he had not yet seen. As they approached, he could hear the sounds of metal tapping metal and what sounded like gears moving.

They were in the gadget part of the exhibit.

“You think this is void as all get out,” Nekae noted, loud enough for Droxine to hear (52.1 decibles).

He felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance at the translator's overlay of Terran American Southern voice patterns on the Nomad's speech.

“These are toys, created for both children and adults.” Droxine's own voice patterns made Spock wonder how many times she rehearsed telling him about the exhibits in anticipation of touring him herself. “All items on Stratos are made with design in mind, and the effect is that the beautiful is also highly functional.”

“Yes yes yes, they're totally void and I'm sure fun, but about this place--” Nekae broke in again, pulling the focus away from him and interrupting the uncomfortable attention the Advisor's daughter was showering on him.

“--of course. You had questions.”

“Just one. I mean, your planet can't support most of the life on display, but your cloud cities don't look big enough to house all of the Advisors and Troglytes. Are you using bigger-on-the-inside technology?”

“'Bigger on the---no no.” Droxine was clearly flustered, and an edge of frustration was creeping into her carefully cultivated polite demeanor. “The cities are for Advisors and studiers. The Troglytes live on the planet.”

“Whhaat?” Nekae elongated the interrogative as if she were surprised, though he knew she was not. “That doesn't make any sense. So far I've learned that your planet is too toxic to support litkas--”

“--Targlets,” he supplied helpfully.

“--marine foliage--”

“kretae,”

“--or even bees.” At a sharp look he kept the last translation to himself. “If none of them can live there, how do the Troglytes?”

“Bees cannot live up here in the clouds, but that doesn't stop the citizens of Stratos.” Droxine replied lightly, as if this were a casual debate.

“Wait, so are you saying Troglytes have some technology that allows them to adapt to the conditions on the surface?”

Spock stayed silent and observed their back-and-forth, relaxing into a role he often served with the Captain. Droxine seemed confused by this, as if she'd made that statement many times before without thinking through the implications.

“Well, perhaps. Truthfully, they use more protective technology when they are up here than down there. Something about the Troglytes is ideally suited for their environment.”

“That seems strange, unless there is something about the planet's surface that we're missing. Something appealing and pleasant, to outweigh missing out on all this.” Nekae turned her head as she spoke, her body language including him even as she was focused on the Ardanan.

Then the interaction had something else in common with his interactions with Captain Kirk. Nekae looked off past Droxine---seemingly at the wall behind her---not unlike when Kirk would lose focus on his present surroundings.

And then, again like Kirk, she was back.

“Hey, this is your scanner tool, right?” Nekae gestured to the tricorder and he nodded.

“Yes.”

Then she turned on her heels to Droxine.

“Surely you could take us on a tour of the surface, right? Spock was telling me how beautiful the zenite crystal formations in the caves look and I know he would enjoy seeing them---Don't deny it!”

“On the contrary,” he replied smoothly, “I am sure the experience would be fascinating.”

“---See? And he could take scans with his _tricorder_ and use them to figure out what additional factors might make the planet's surface a place where Troglytes want to live.”

“I—I don't know. I think I'm supposed to stay here and spend time with our guests.”

“Aren't we your guests? I was under the impression you wanted to spend time with us.”

Droxine held back her first response, literally swallowing it.

“I suppose that is true,” she said, nodding her head in concession. She looked up and right at him, eyes sharp. Then, as if deciding something, she straightened and replied.

“I will, but only if you tell me about yourself. Your people, the Nomads of the _Seas of the Oasis_ are a mystery to us all.”

“Whatever you want to know. I'm an open book.”

* * *

 

Jim stared at the tray of flower pastries one of the Disruptors had left on the stone table next to him.

He had to admit, he was starting to like these Troglytes.

What he had so far observed:

The Disruptors were a terrorist organization with one purpose – to free Troglytes from the harsh living conditions and very near forced labor of the mines.

They gained access to the cloud city by acting as paid attendants and security for the citizens of Stratos .

Something kept them from just taking the cities in a military coup. And not just some technical detail---there was obviously a threat of retaliatory action hanging over their heads. All of the Disruptors were anxious not to get caught.

Vanna entered to room and Kirk watched her body language.

_Muscles tense, shoulders up, eyes narrow, jaw tight._

She was angry. No, she was enraged.

He moved back to the stone bench where Bones was perched as if ready to jump at a moment's notice.

“What's happening?” the Doctor asked immediately.

“Don't know yet...” Kirk murmured in response.

Vanna had not noticed his movement, and he watched as she slowly relaxed. Only when her shoulders were lowered and her knees unlocked did another Troglyte approach her.

“I guess running a high stakes kidnapping while attending to the needs of the planet's elites is stressful work. Who knew?” McCoy concluded drily.

Then Kirk remembered where he'd first seen her. She was the Troglyte attendant waiting on the High Advisor and the Federation Ambassadors.

When she moved over to the balcony to look down at the planet below, Kirk rose and approached her carefully.

“Vanna?”

She turned her head, took one look, and rolled her eyes.

“What do you need _Captain_ Kirk?” she said, emphasizing his title as if it were ridiculous to her.

“You look stressed. I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do...”

She was surprised by this response.

“You continue to insult me, Kirk. First I am pompous like the Stratos citizens and now I _look stressed_.”

“Captain Kirk,” he corrected her.

She twisted around faster than he'd seen her move until now, reptilian reflexes kicking in. She locked her eyes on him and he could swear that they dilated horizontally, like a snake's would.

“So it is true that your Starfleet is here to bully us with your titles and your weapons!”

“No,” he said, his voice as serious as he could make it. He met her eyes, doing everything he could to project his honest sincerity. “Is that why you think we are here?”

“You are here for the party Ardana is hosting for New Vulcan. You are the vessel bearing the Prince.”

“The Prince?”

Jim did not laugh he did not laugh he did not laugh...

“You mean Commander Spock?”

He just needed to nail down this little detail for later.

“Yes, the Vulcan Prince. At this event, he is supposed to begin his courtship with the High Advisor's Daughter, Droxine.”

“I see. I suppose you know that because you attend her.”

He immediately regretted taking the conversation in that direction. It was supposed to make her angry and keep her off-balance.

He hadn't meant to shame her.

“Yes, Captain.”

She broke eye contact, looking away at the view of the sky and the drop.

“Are you in the room when Plasus talks to Sarek?” Kirk asked more directly, hoping he could bring her back if addressed her as the Disruptor who'd captured him.

“I am...” she looked up at him warily. Clearly she didn't know where he was going.

“Sarek is the Ambassador from Vulcan, one of the Federation's founding races. Vulcans are a peaceful, logical people, and the place they serve in the Federation is often as our moral compass.”

She looked confused and Kirk imagined Spock at his side, explaining what he meant.

_He corrects me so I won't use idioms non-humans don't understand_ he realized.

“They remind us who we are, who we aspire to be. They remind us of our ethics.” She was nodding.

“Yes, that is clear from the talks so far. The Vulcan has honor and---even though they claim to be heartless---compassion. We can see it in his interactions with us.”

“Then know that what is happening on your world is not acceptable governance for planets in the Federation. Your people cannot continue to live under such inequality. When Mr. Spock gets hard evidence that the conditions on the planet and in the mines are unhealthy Sarek _**will**_ get Plasus to make concessions to the Troglytes.”

“The Vulcan is also stubborn. We have observed _that_ as well...” she mused.

“That's a trait he shares with his son, I assure you.” Kirk smiled, holding her gaze, and reminding himself that the safety of Federation Ambassadors and officers was more important than his personal resolution not to inappropriately charm. “We'll get to the bottom of this, and then Plasus will have to make a decision. Being a member of the Federation is a privilege reserved for planets that have figured out how to equitably govern themselves.”

“You make this _Federation_ sound like a pleasant organization to be a part of...” Vanna replied, trailing off.

“It is.”

* * *

 

“You are _sure the_ e _xperience would be fascinating_ , huh?” she asked, her voice low enough for him alone. He echoed in his reply.

“Indeed. As I told you nothing about any z _enite crystal formations in the caves_ , I am sure what we find will be fascinating.”

“I took the risk that she has never had the pleasure of a visit to the mines.”

“A logical conclusion based on the evidence before us. The Advisors and the Troglytes lead almost completely separate lives.”

In his opinion, they were utilizing their superior Vulcanoid hearing in a way that substituted nicely for a telepathic link. It made this mission feel more like a game, and he relaxed into the role of Beacon.

As a Beacon, he was expected to be abrupt and socially-awkward. Beacons took a back seat in all social interactions, which were led by Navigators.

“So,” Droxine turned to address Nekae as they waited on the transporter pads for beam down to the planet's surface, “what do you do?”

“Do?”

“What is your occupation?”

“Oh. I am the Bridge of the Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_.”

“And what does a Bridge _do_?” Droxine emphasized the question, implying that Nekae was avoiding it. In truth, it was something he also wanted to know. Looking down, he put focus on the Nomad and waited for her answer.

“I bridge the distance between the living and the dead.”

_Fascinating._ So far their gameplay had been focused on space stations and starships, locations which were apparently not favored by Bridges. They had encountered other Beacons, Navigators, Machinists, a Disciple in every inn and Brutes everywhere.

He suspected she was keeping this information from him deliberately, but her smirk suggested she was amused at his interest.

“Sounds spooky,” the Ardanan replied, nodding to the Troglyte Technician who beamed them down to the planet.

“What do you do?” Nekae echoed the question back to her as they stepped off the pads and onto the planet's surface.

Ardana had an orange horizon that rusted into an ocher red sky. The ground was brown gritty soil and rocks, and all around them were rock formations and cave openings.

“I am an artist. Right now I am the Director of the Stratos City Museum . I manage exhibitions and curated collections.”

Nekae jumped, her arm still linked with his.

Droxine was the sort of person who focused on herself while she was speaking, and consequently did not notice when Nekae jumped. He kept his head still as his eyes looked over at her questioningly. She kicked her foot and then looked over at him.

“The exhibits have been a lot of fun, haven't they?” Nekae asked him---though loud enough for Droxine to hear---and while normally teasing their host would amuse her, something about the Nomad's behavior was off.

“Quite enjoyable.” He confirmed. He freed his arm and opened his tricorder, making a show of scanning the planet's surface.

In truth, he was scanning the Advisor's daughter, taking a base set of readings that he would then compare to second and third sets he intended to take after exposure to the conditions of the mines.

“While I am totally in agreement with this lazy heat, it seems like more than Troglytes would find comfortable,” Nekae commented absently as she wandered around, looking all around them as if she were truly a tourist taking in the scenic view.

“It is,” Droxine said, covering her bare shoulders with her hands vainly in an effort to avoid a direct exposure sunburn. He took off his formal dress uniform jacket and offered it to her, only to then regret being maneuvered into the position of holding it while she worked her way into it.

From a few steps away, Nekae watched the scene with a look that he did not quite understand.

“Thank you, Spock. Why don't we get her inside one of these caves.”

She strode back to him, using an expression of gratitude to reframe his actions as a favor to her and then the “we” to reinforce her possession.

“Which way?” Nekae asked, and Droxine pointed at the nearest cave opening.

“What about over there?”

“Of course,” Nekae said drily, but they moved towards the mine entrance quickly. As they moved inside the temperature decreased in 5 and 10 degree increments and the light levels were significantly reduced.

He felt warmth at his side and looked down to see Nekae crowding against him. Her muscles were tight, her neck bunched and shoulders drawn together.

“You are distressed,” he whispered.

“Can you carry both of us at once?” she shot back softly.

It was not a question he expected. On Organia he had been able to pick Nekae up and carry her without any significant effort. And based on his estimation of Droxine's height at weight---made easier by her lack of attire---she could not be more than 46.26 kilograms.

“Yes.”

“If I fall, get us out of here.”

“Are you likely to fall?”

“Mister Spock,” Droxine began, “perhaps you'll share with us what you learned about the zenite formations. How far into the mines will we need to go before we find them?”

In truth, he was fairly certain that the chalky rock around them was zenite, and scanning the walls of the caves proved it. Zenite dust flaked off into the air and all three of them were breathing it in---though the emotionally-depressive properties of the drug should affect only humanoids.

“I don't understand, Droxine. The planet seemed pretty awful for Troglytes and down here isn't much better. Do you really think they should have to live here?”

Nekae spared him having to answer, but her tone made him wonder if she had done it to help him or to just speed things along.

She did not seem to enjoy the mines.

“Of course,” the Ardanan replied smoothly. “They work in the mines. If they lived on the surface there would be an enormous cost in energy and time getting them down and back up every day.”

“Because they do all of your labor intensive work for you---” Nekae shot back, losing her diplomatic tone and starting to sound angry.

“That is their function in our society.”

“But why? And who decides who has to live and work in the mines and who gets to create art in the sun on the cloud city platform?”

The arguing back-and-forth was making them both take large, deep breaths in and Spock took another set of tricorder readings.

Droxine was starting to show a medicated affect from the dust. The reasoning centers of her brain were less active than on his last scans, and the parts of her brain where glandular reactions were controlled was lit up. A second scan confirmed that her body was producing testosterone and adrenaline-like hormones in large quantities.

Her body is telling her to leave, depressing her ability to think, and chemically priming her for an aggressive, fearful response.

“Because they earned it!” Droxine snarled, going from her reserved former self to an enraged woman pacing the underground corridor they were in as if she were a trapped animal trying to escape.

“How?!” Nekae demanded, continuing to push.

“Ardana was once a beautiful, fertile planet. And then the 'industries' of our world polluted it, first destroying natural lands away from where people lived and then causing so much damage that the world started to overheat. They pretended like there wasn't a problem until it was too late, while the rest of us worked together to construct the cloud cities. Staying here is their penance and---because they loved industry _so much_ \---labor is their role.”

As she ranted, the First Daughter threw her arms and body around and her hair started to come out of its elaborately pinned style.

“And now, generations later, you still enforce this punishment?”

“YES!” she hissed, seething with hatred now.

Spock took another set of scans. The cumulative effects of exposure to the dust was depressed neurological function and overproduction of hormones and biochemicals. Droxine was now displaying the full effects of that exposure.

She had, in 10.25 minutes on the planet's surface, been transformed into a ranting, raving, unreasoning being. Or, as the Stratos city-dwellers would say, _into a Troglyte_.

Nekae was clothed in a sleeveless, strapless dress with turquoise leaves on a white background. Her chest, shoulders, and arms were bare and Spock watched as a black shape formed on her chest and then wound down her arm to her hand.

She held her hand out to Droxine.

“Droxine, First Daughter of Plasus,” she addressed her differently now, her voice reminiscent of how she addressed the Organian Council at the end of their stay on the planet.

Though this time Droxine was the angry Klingon Commander.

“---I offer you the chance to cross the Bridge.”

Droxine sneered, but then looked down at Nekae's arm. Shrugging, she took the Nomad's hand, now covered in black designs.

A ragged gasp tore from Droxine's throat, followed by a scream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Nyotarules for the lovely conversation about this episode that undoubtedly added depth to my fanfic redux. 
> 
> And on to the conclusion!


	17. A few hours ago...

**_A few hours ago..._ **

“Isn't it a wonder that you aren't coupled?” she shot back drily.

_Be nicer! When you're at a party with someone you are **nice** to them._

Nekae rolled her eyes, then shot a glance at her companion, the desert aristocrat. He seemed to be examining the the bee excretion art.

She closed her eyes, that being the only sure way she could _talk_ to Sabbas without actually talking out loud.

_This **is** me being nice. He's wealthy and privileged. It's important to bring him down a notch once in a while._

Opening her eyes, she wondered if Spock would mind that she brought Sabbas to the party, even though he had only invited her. In truth, he must already know, since he knew that she was mentally linked with the other members of _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ and he knew that Sabbas was her Navigator.

Of course on occasions like this Sabbas would be taking a more active role.

Nekae was a Nomad at a Federation diplomatic reception, the guest of her desert aristocrat. She had been invited under dubious circumstances, was surrounded by people who assumed she was a desertborn Vulcan, and had no idea what the social rules for this event were.

She needed navigating and Sabbas was her family's Navigator.

“Tell me more about this Transporter,” she said.

As they went back and forth, she scanned the room. The people of Ardana were split into two groups: workers and artists. The workers were attending to guests and running security. The artists were socializing with guests from all over this sector of space.

So far she'd seen only one _ka'dri_ , standing up ahead next to a group of people who looked like they were in charge of greeting everyone.

“Then how do you know that I'm me? I mean, how do you know the me that was on my ship is the same me that stands here now, drinking fizzing tree excretions and appreciating insect reproductive fluids?”

_Click it down several ticks! You are at a fancy party, not one of your usually hole roles._

“A metaphysical question, one posed by many in the Federation...”

While he was talking she couldn't close her eyes or he'd notice. And if she couldn't close her eyes and concentrate, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from blurting out loud what she was trying to think to her Nav.

“What about this _copy_ of me your transporter made for its _pattern buffer_? Could you go back and materialize that? Does that copy still exist?”

_Oh yeah, you were totally right. He was trying to hide something. Good call._

They shot back-and-forth a bit more and then she jumped, feeling a hot hand press lightly at the base of her back.

“Perhaps we should continue on.”

A little disoriented, she nodded and let herself be led down the hall.

_I **told** you this was about you!_

She winced as Sabbas squealed. Her Nav had been convinced for weeks now that the desert aristocrat was leaning towards her.

Then they were joined by the Captain and another human in Starfleet uniform dress.

“Nekae, how wonderful to see you.”

_Is that him?_ Sabbas asked. _The male you were so interested in?_

At first, she had been. After the strange encounter at the nightclub on Tesnia Nekae had been ready to swim her whale right back into the center of the Seas, only to run into them a second time. And then, after she'd convinced her whale to leave as soon as they were finished “healing” the Enterprise, what did she find when she opened comms but a desertborn Vulcan and a human with a _ka'dri_ standing right at his back.

A _ka'dri_ that looked just like him

She was sure now that her aristocrat knew that those first few conversations were a scam. It was obvious that she was not an Ambassador---especially now that they had a Federation Ambassador on _Ketarai Menal_ in talks with Oasis Representatives---so there was no real reason for her to continue engaging in conversations with their ship.

She had even made sure to ignore the actual Ambassador and his heir, lest later anyone claim that she had brokered any sort of agreement.

It took her six conversations to learn the story behind the Captain's _ka'dri:_ that he had a “near death experience”---which must be his indigenous human way of saying he was killed and brought back to life, since the _ka'dri_ are only made upon one's death. As soon as the mystery was solved she made up a clever excuse to exit and left, intending on never seeing them again.

That obviously didn't go as planned.

“And you, Captain Kirk.”

_Where's his ka'dri? I don't see him._

Nekae wondered that herself, but reasoned that it must be on the ship. Many of the human Homelanders were trailed by the _ka'dri_ of their family and friends at their homes, but not elsewhere. Something about the human _ka'dri_ tied them to places they'd lived.

Nekae itched to share this insight with Sabbas, but didn't want to reveal herself around Kirk, who could easily tell the aristocrat.

“You look different when you are not on your ship, Captain.”

“I do?”

“Have you ever felt like you leave a bit of yourself there when you go, and that you aren't really all there until you get back?”

The human Kirk seemed to think through that seriously. Then he laughed.

_That makes sense..._

“Actually, sometimes I do feel that way,” he agreed easily. “You are looking well. I'm surprised you aren't cold.”

“Oh no, I'm covered in a thin layer of whale blubber.”

“Did you say... blubber?”

“Yeah, you know, fat? Inside my whale the stuff is everywhere.” She looked at her bare shoulder. “It keeps me warm and makes my skin smooth. See?” She offered him her bare arm.

“Aren't you a touch telepath? I mean Spock---”

“--he is. We're not.”

The human laughed again and then touched her arm.

He then pitched to her the idea of starting a company to sell whale blubber to human females.

_Maybe these humans are like the dish-ears: greedy and opportunistic._

“How very entrepreneurial of you, Kirk.”

_Nice..._

Sabbas always appreciated a skillful comeback.

The Captain stepped backwards and his heart rate accelerated. The aristocrat was next to her then, his hand back over the base of her spine. He was looking at Kirk like...

_Oh my..._

She tapped the inside of his arm and his eyes, which were focused on Kirk in a way that she was obviously misinterpreting, slid down to her.

“Perhaps we should continue. This is a diplomatic event, and our Ardanan hosts are waiting ahead to greet us.”

The strange moment passed, and she tried to shrug it off. She finished another glass of the sparkling pink concoction and set the flute aside.

“How about we keep it moving?” Bones said, tugging at his collar. “The sooner we get into the actual reception, the sooner we can get out---and the sooner _I_ can get out of _this_.”

_He thinks the shirt is uncomfortable. Agree. Easy rapport._

“It does look ridiculously uncomfortable,” Nekae added and they moved further down the hall.

They approached a group of diplomats, including the aristocrat's father. Behind a sour-looking man in gray robes stood the _ka'dri_ , a woman in long flowing robes and white blond hair wrapped up into a twist.

“Adviser Plasus,” Sarek began, “may I introduce you to Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, Doctor McCoy, Commander Spock---who is, as you know, my son---, and the Nomad Nekae of the Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_.”

Sabbas was silent, and Nekae could feel anxiety vibe across the link. She had to admit the desertborn Ambassador looked more like an ancient enemy with his long, formal robes inscribed with the name of his family and house.

_Who is she?_

Nekae looked away from the _ka'dri_ and right into the cold eyes of a tall, aloof princess.

“Of course, Stratos is known as the art and cultural center of the Federation. These were just to whet the palate, I assure you. May I introduce one of our planet's most incomparable works of art, my daughter, Droxine.”

When the female opened her mouth every eye was on her, and Nekae took a chance and shut her eyes, concentrating on Sabbas.

_I knew he wasn't telling me everything!_

_We do **not** like her._

“I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Spock. Your father has been in negotiations with mine for weeks, and I must admit to having built up some curiosity at the mention that _you_ would be in attendance. I hope that emotion isn't distasteful to you.”

_Oh I've been looking at your picture and kissing the screen and I hope you don't find that distasteful..._

The Nomad could just see her _krei_ tossing her shoulders as she mocked the haughty princess in her high-pitched voice and had to clench her jaw tight to keep from laughing. She jerked as she held in a chuckle.

“Not at all. Even on Vulcan, curiosity is considered necessary for continued scientific endeavor.”

_He is **so** not into her. He is totally lokked onto you._

She hated puns and Sabbas knew that. Her Nav was fluent in the language of the Homelanders, and from the inside of her mind could certainly feel the translation devices all around the museum pulling all of the guests to speak and listen in a language that was remarkably similar to it. She would have closed her eyes and shot back, but then her aristocrat was leaning down and speaking in the voice he used with her.

“Would you like to take the unguided tour? I listened to the audio in preparation and I think you will be most interested in the pieces inspired by Ardana's local fauna.”

“Sounds void.”

_Okay, let's review. So far we've learned that the desert aristocrat is **very** interested in you. There's a princess trying to bind him up, and he's invited you in an effort to keep himself free for more pleasant pursuits._

She let herself be guided over to a statue of a person from the chest up carved out of ice where the arms were hollow, filled with flames that shot out where the hands should be.

“This is an example of what the Ardanans call Elemental Art. The subject is Advisor Marleka, who led the Salon of Advisors 75.23 Ardanan years ago. Perhaps...” he trailed off for a moment, accepting another drink which he then handed to her, “...the ice that forms the arms is chemically treated to stay solid even with the flames directly underneath...”

She could tell he was fascinated, so she gave him a moment. She told herself not to be upset.

_Why are you down?!? He's into you! He can't help it if---_

“Are we going to pretend you didn't leave some essential information out of your invitation?”

She interrupted Sabbas, not that the aristocrat would notice.

“I believe I told you everything you needed to know...” he said, and when she looked up his eyes had that spark like he was trying to tell a joke. The mischievous look was in direct conflict with his flat, otherwise emotionless affect.

It made him look like a Nomad child just fresh off a prank. She felt her bluster melt away and couldn't stop herself from smiling back at him.

“Were you a Nomad I'd commend you for your sneakiness. Since you're a Vulcan I should remind you that you're supposed to be honest.”

“It was not a lie. Perhaps an omission.”

“I don't remember hearing stories about Surak's famous omissions...”

“For a Nomad, you seem quite well-versed on the philosophy of Surak.”

“For a Vulcan, you seem quite annoyed.”

_You told me he was cute. You didn't tell me you two were cute together!_

* * *

 

“This is the voidest thing here so far...” she said, relaxing her neck and shoulders. Even with the blubber she'd still been cold, and the heat from this “hot house” felt amazing. Then she felt a hand on her back again.

“The rise in temperature is pleasant.” And all at once he was right next to her, hand on her body, using a tone of voice she had only ever heard him use with her.

He had this way of making her feel like they were completely alone.

_Listen to how suave he is!_

Not quite alone. She loved Sabbas, but she was starting to regret having brought her along. She missed how things had felt on Organia.

He steered them to one of the hot house exhibits, but something caught her eye.

It was the _ka'dri_ again. This time the shell of the older woman was standing in the middle of the room, staring right at her.

Sometimes Nekae hated being a Bridge. As a part of her early training, she'd gotten a tattoo meant to help her see and interact with _ka'dri_. Now she had to be careful where she looked, because the moment a _ka'dri_ realized she could see them she herself was a target.

_Ka'dri_ always had some task they wanted done.

“Would you like to watch the targlets? They have a very interesting set of social rituals---”

“El? Oh, would you look at this!” She turned and saw what he'd moved them towards, some sort of aquatic plant-based life form growing up the wall. “You know what it reminds me of? The plant spirals that grow on the inside of a whale's fallopian tubes!”

“Indeed?”

“Yes! The bottom of the tubes---depending on how gravity is working at the time, you know---is always submerged in this nutrient-rich fluid and the top is dripping with it. The whole scene is a lot like being in a hot, humid, wet forest at the equator of a planet.”

“Those environments are often very rich in life forms of all different types,” he added.

_He's totally into this. Oh! Offer to play Seven Days with him!_

“Oh, it is! Hey, we should play some _Seven Days on the Open Seas_ sometime.”

“What is---”

“It's a game with seven rounds where you are inside a space whale. You have to take care of the whale and keep the space out for seven rounds, and all sorts of fun things happen.”

_Tell him about that time we brought on the whale mating and we both had to abandon ship!_

“Rolling all over the floor with your litkas laughing, you wouldn't believe this one time, Sabbas and I were playing and everything seemed like it was going wrong. The whale started spiting out an egg from both ovaries during each ov cycle, the stomach got this crazy bacterial buildup, and that triggered a cascade pushing acid up her feeding tube and...”

_Tell him the best part!_

“...and we missed an egg trying to get the acid production back down, just as we rolled our way into the upstream, which is this part of the _Seas_ where whales mate. We had to _**abandon ship**_ for a mating!”

Then her side was warm, and when she looked up he was right next to her. When he crowded close their height difference was obvious and stark.

_There's that princess again. Look._

She tilted her head so that she could see into the reflective surface of the marble behind the plant-based reef and sure enough, there was that stuck up princess watching them from across the room.

Then she swallowed, realizing the _ka'dri_ had snuck up on her and was now standing inches from Nekae's face. Deep in her mind she felt Sabbas gasp, surprised at the _ka'dri's_ behavior as well.

Nekae held in her own reaction, used to all manner of sneaky _ka'dri_ tricks, and turned to her desert aristocrat, raising an eyebrow. This time she didn't jump when she felt his hand.

“Perhaps we should move into the musical portion of the museum.”

_See, he wants to get away from that stuck up princess._

“But it will be cold--” she whined, half annoyed that he brought her here to use her as a shield.

“I am sure we will be able to keep each other warm.”

She felt the hairs on her bare arms stand up, and the cascading involuntary reaction went up her arms to her shoulders and her neck. She focused on the reef, remembering the Disciple skills she'd learned from her mother and using them to get control over her body.

Even Sabbas was silent.

“El,” she said, though she heard the translator turn it into another sound completely.

She let herself be let out of the hot houses, barely noticing the loss of heat with her personal heater at her back.

* * *

 

Their bodies were as close as they had been on Organia, walking down the dirt road from “town square” to Trefayne's “inn”.

She turned her head to the side and looked down. His arms moved to her shoulders and he rested his forearms on her shoulder blades lightly.

She closed her eyes.

_Bridge to Nav---Bridge to Nav---Speak to me!_

Sabbas's voice, a constant snark in her ears the whole evening, had been silenced with the desert aristocrat's heated words.

_Um, I should go. Totally._

She answered back fast and then opened her eyes, hoping he was still looking around them and not down at her.

_I need you. Now more than ever. Stay!_

When she opened her eyes he seemed settled, but his arms were still featherlight on her shoulders.

_You're off balance, and he should be too. Give him back some of what he's giving!_

“You're used to dancing with humans.”

He looked at her with such an innocence, like he had no idea what she could mean. She could feel the sides of her mouth twitch as she bobbed her shoulders.

Then he started to relax, and it felt like he was melting into her as muscle after muscle released and he gave her the weight of his arms. She turned her neck, and was surprised at how tense his wrists and hands still were.

She forced herself to relax too, letting her spine, hips, and legs bend and sway. She started to lead them in a two-step up-and-back and felt his body jerk and then move along with her.

_He expected to lead._

They were close enough that his body loomed over and around her. Facing his chest, his chin could almost graze the bridge of her nose. Her forehead was at his lips. She looked up only to find that he was looking down at her expectantly.

_You are on the offensive. Go!_

“She's stopped looking, you know.”

She blurted out the first thing she could think to say and was rewarded as his wrists and hands released their clench and relaxed.

_Now we are on the right track. Keep pushing!_

“Just so you understand me completely, I am displeased that you were not forthcoming with me about the true reason for your invitation,” she continued.

Her teeth ground against each other as she held her jaw forcibly closed. She could barely hold back her mirth when he made that confused, pained face at her.

“The reason I gave you was true. I--”

“---but not complete, even after I requested that you include all relevant information---”

“---how am I to judge what you mean by all the information _you need to know_? That is---”

She stared him down, almost insulted that he would use the same line twice in one evening, and he stopped mid-sentence. His brows came together and he sighed this little huff of frustration.

_You totally don't need me. I should go..._

Her hand buzzed and, looking down she saw that the device on his hip was vibrating.

“Your side is... ringing all-vibrate-y?”

She started to slid it out of its belt slot.

“Can you...?”

“Yeah, yes, empty...”

_What **is** that?!?_

She smiled, making a show of flipping it open the way he did and holding it up to him.

“Spock here.”

She could almost forget he was anything other than a Nomad living on a large ship until he did something like answer a call. Then he was all officer, Scientist:Soldier in this constantly shifting ratio.

“We have your Captain and Doctor.”

She could feel him move in response, his leg jerking as if to go somewhere. She knew he considered the people he worked with closely to be his friends, and Kirk and Bones most of all. She moved the hand still on his hip to get a better grip and then caught his eye. She gripped his hip and nodded.

Of course she would help him rescue his people.

“Are they injured?”

His gaze lowered down past her and his eyes moved back-and-forth as if he were imagining some elaborate strategy. She could feel the ratio tipping towards Soldier and could imagine him at this moment on the frontlines of a far-reaching space battle.

“We're fine, Spock. Just fine.”

_He's not stressed. Honestly, he sounds like he is exactly where he wants to be._

“I am pleased, Captain. Madam, may I inquire as to your identity?”

“I am the leader of the Disruptors. We represent the interests of the Troglytes.”

_Holy shit, its a Workers' Rebellion!_

She couldn't help but smile at that. This whole place was so affluent—-it was obvious that those who did the work were not the ones who reaped the rewards. He gave her a serious look and she remembered he was more soldier right now.

“And what are the Troglytes interested in?”

“Equality.”

_Obvs. This whole place is in severe need of a justice readjustment._

Nekae agreed wholeheartedly, but she had no idea how the aristocrat was supposed to trigger such a balancing of powers on Ardana. Perhaps, if he kept the Disruptor talking she would volunteer an idea.

Looking up, she saw that he was lost in his own thoughts again. There was something about that she found weirdly attractive, the idea that there was a whole world going on inside his mind. Truly he had the disposition of a Beacon.

After a few moments she realized he had not drawn a breath to speak. She pinched his stomach through his fancy clothes. When he looked at her, she nodded exaggeratedly at the communicator.

“As an officer in Starfleet and as a Vulcan I pledge to do all I can to help Ardana achieve equality.”

_Did she just snort?!?_

“Am I really to believe that? Everyone knows you are here to join your world to Stratos by marriage.”

_Yes. Yes she did. We **want** to meet her before this is all over._

“How may we assist you in this goal?”

She moved her face to catch his eyes again, hoping her look communicated to him how much that path was not going to work with the Disruptor.

“---or how may we retrieve our crew?”

_You really are going to have to navigate him..._

“If you are truly willing to do _all you can_ , then convince Droxine to push the Advisers for an honest dialogue between Stratos and the Troglytes.”

_That's doable. Agree._

Nekae nodded, her head moving up-and-down in an exaggerated gesture.

“I will attempt it.”

His tone was final, and she didn't bother to ask him before closing the communicator. She looked down quickly as she re holstered his device, hoping she'd bent her head in time to hide her face. The conversation pulled together clues she'd been gathering all evening.

Spock knew about this political situation too and he hadn't told her.

_Hey, what's wrong? This is exactly what you want. An adventure!_

She kept her head bent as she spoke.

“I think it is obvious that this has stopped being a party and is now a mission. That's fine, but not unless we are going to be honest about _everything that I need to know_.”

She was taken aback by his response.

“Please know that while I was watching the relationship between the Stratos Advisers and the Troglytes, I did not think the situation would amount to more than my making observations.”

She snapped her eyes shut.

_What is happening??!!_

_Urgency. An undertone of fear. I can't SEE!_

She opened her eyes and looked up at his face, cataloging every eyebrow angle and lip contour.

“Based on my analysis of the situation, I saw no reason to inform you.”

His hot, heavy hands moved down to her shoulders and she shivered. She took in the lightest of breaths and held it, his eyes locked in hers.

She felt like she couldn't move. Not even to breathe.

_Honest!_ Sabbas said, like she had forgotten for a beat. _He's being honest!_

“Empty.” Nekae quipped. The whole moment was awkward and all she wanted was out of it.

_Make it into a game. Relieve the tension._

“Then tell me, Beacon, what's the plan?”

She wanted him so badly to take the bait, to reframe what was going on as something lighter.

She wanted so badly to be able to look away.

“Perhaps, since this is real life and not a game, you should function as a Bridge instead of as my Navigator.”

She sighed hard in relief which turned right into a laugh.

“Trust me, the last thing you want to need in this situation is a Bridge.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviewers: I'll confess that I always feel like it is a risk to focus on one of my OC characters instead of canonfolk. Do you like them? Do you hate them? I'm sure you would rather another Spock POV. 
> 
> These are the thoughts that make writing slow going. 
> 
> The reverse POV was too tempting of a tactic to pass up. The inspiration comes from Pat Foley's Summer of Love---which has a killer reverse POV tied to another of her stories, Holography 3--- and Psicygni's The Place Between---which is predominantly Uhura POV, but then switches to Spock for one mindbending chapter.


	18. The Cloud Minders Redux, Part 5

Nekae quickly took an empty stall in the Excretions closet and listened. When she was sure she was alone she closed her eyes.

_Sabbas!_

_I'm here. We can do this. We can totally do this._

She couldn't help but smile. Her Nav always knew when she needed a pep talk.

_How? I thought you said we did **not** like her?_

_We don't. But we can still get her to do what we want._

Nekae felt lost, rudderless.

_What do we know about this planet?_

In her mind, Sabbas starting describing Ardana as if she were reading an entry on one of her feeds.

 _Ardana was just recently granted Federation membership. Two types of people: Advisors and Troglytes. The Troglytes mine zenite, which pays for Federation membership and is the planet's chief export. The Advisors... well, they do art. Lots of it._

Nekae remembered Kirk's request.

_Is it possible that Kirk is right, and the zenite makes the Troglytes seem mentally backwards?_

_That is a definite possibility. It can be used to treat anxiety in humanoids._

_How does it work?_

_It temporarily blocks certain neurochemicals from being reabsorbed after production. Oh! Here's some good news!_

_What?_

_It shouldn't do anything to you or Spock. Just to the Princess._

One problem solved. The Princess herself was a whole other problem. She'd obviously designed this place for the aristocrat, as some sort of intellectual seduction.

_What about Droxine?_

_Oh, easy._

_How?_ Nekae could hear the frustration seeping out, even in her mental voice.

 _She wants to be around the aristocrat. To take him around the space she arranged for him._

_But one of the reasons he brought me here was literally to repel her..._

_Compete with her, but invite her to stay. Claim him, but let her talk to him and lead you both around the way she wants._

Nekae nodded, eyes closed, her face playing all the emotions that went with the conversation only she could hear.

 _Got it?_

_Yes!_

She opened her eyes and left the stall, passing a human woman in formal dress as she left the closet.

“...interesting how the buds seem to know when a bug is approaching and open in anticipation.”

She turned and located the desert aristocrat quickly. He was holding the black box that must have been the _tricorder_ he was after and engaged in conversation with Droxine.

 _He's doing his part. Now let's do ours_ Sabbas thought. 

“The plant is responsive to the insect's needs. In that way, even though they are very different, the insect and the plant are ideally suited for one another's company.”

“That's subtle.” Nekae crossed the hall and pushed herself between the two of them, smiling at the Ardanan to contrast the tone in her voice.

Not precisely to make her feel better.

“As are you.” Droxine snapped back, keeping her pleasant but neutral air.

_Oh, she wants to play. She's sure that if she spends time with him, he'll understand that she's be better option._

The Nomad slid her arm in the Vulcan's, claiming him while keeping her focus on Droxine.

“I was hoping we would see you again. I have so many questions about this place.”

She watched as the Princess's body language and facial features hardened and felt a rise in her own energy level. Then she turned, feeling something above her move, and looked up at him.

He was looking at her like they'd done this a thousand times. As if this possessive back-and-forth (him staring down his Captain, her whispering in his ear while they were being watched in the bubble, him stepping closer to her whenever Droxine was looking, her talking about them as if they were always a “we”...) was their normal way of acting. 

“I would be delighted to answer. Please--” Droxine interrupted their moment, motioning them to a part of the reception they had not yet seen. As they got closer, it sounded like they were moving towards a Machinist's lab.

And then they were in a room surrounded by gears and levers and simple machines arranged in astoundingly complex patterns. She felt his change in heart rate in the crook of her elbow, her arm still intertwined in his.

 _Let her know that he appreciates this_ Sabbas advised.

“You think this is void as all get out,” Nekae said, pretending to whisper but at a level they both knew Droxine could hear. Sparing her a glance, the Nomad could tell the Ardanan was pleased.

“These are toys, created for both children and adults. All items on Stratos are made with design in mind, and the effect is that the beautiful is also highly functional.”

 _She practiced this! I bet she practiced what she would say to him at each and every one of these exhibits..._

Sabbas was delighted, probably because it made the Princess that much easier to manipulate. Nekae didn't share her enthusiasm.

She knew what it was like to throw everything at someone who just didn't care for her.

“Yes yes yes, they're totally void and I'm sure fun, but about this place--” 

“--of course. You had questions.”

“Just one. I mean, your planet can't support most of the life on display, but your cloud cities don't look big enough to house all of the Advisors and Troglytes. Are you using bigger-on-the-inside technology?”

_Too soon! Let her focus on him a little more..._

“'Bigger on the---no no. The cities are for Advisors and studiers. The Troglytes live on the planet.”

Nekae continued to push, the thought of playing on Droxine's heartstrings any more making her nauseous.

“Whhaat? That doesn't make **any** sense. So far I've learned that your planet is too toxic to support litkas--”

“--Targlets,” Spock chimed in, sounding almost helpful.

“--marine foliage--”

“kretae,”

“--or even bees.” She shot him a look that she hoped would shut him up. “If none of them can live there, how do the Troglytes?”

“Bees cannot live up here in the clouds, but that doesn't stop the citizens of Stratos.”

_Canned answer. I bet she's never really thought about it._

“Wait, so are you saying Troglytes have some technology that allows them to adapt to the conditions on the surface?”

This seemed to take Droxine by surprise and Nekae wondered if she had ever spoken with someone who was not also an Advisor like her about the Troglytes before.

“Well, perhaps. Truthfully, they use more protective technology when they are up here than down there. Something about the Troglytes is ideally suited for their environment.”

_She seems willing to talk. Keep pushing._

“That's strange, unless there is something about the planet's surface that we're missing. Something appealing and pleasant, to outweigh missing out on all this.”

Nekae angled to include the aristocrat, who had gotten quiet. Maybe too quiet.

Her intention had been to stop playing on Droxine's emotions, not to upset the delicate ego of her desertborn escort.

Looking around, she caught sight of the _ka'dri_ again. This time the old woman was behind Droxine, and the similarities were obvious.

This was her mother, or an older sister or aunt. Someone who cared for her.

Nekae wondered if the _ka'dri_ was going to try to stop her from getting Droxine down to the mines. If so, she'd need to be quick.

“Hey, this is your scanner tool, right?” She turned and spoke right to him, reaching down to touch the box he now had, strap slung casually over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Then she pivoted back to Droxine.

“Surely you could take us on a tour of the surface, right? Spock was telling me how beautiful the zenite crystal formations in the caves look and I know he would enjoy seeing them---Don't deny it!”

“On the contrary, I am sure the experience would be fascinating.”

_I had no idea desertborns could play along so well._

“---See? And he could take scans with his _tricorder_ and use them to figure out what additional factors might make the planet's surface a place where Troglytes want to live.”

_I told you it was too soon! She wasn't ready to be asked._

“I—I don't know. I think I'm supposed to stay here and spend time with our guests.”

She had to think fast. Casting off her prior reservations she pressed one of Droxine's buttons hard.

“Aren't we your guests? I was under the impression you wanted to spend time with us.”

_Hee hee heh heh..._

“I suppose that is true,” Droxine finally replied. The First Daughter looked at her aristocrat, and Nekae realized with a shock that the woman really thought she still had a chance.

All at once, Nekae decided she liked Droxine, no matter what anyone said.

“I will, but only if you tell me about yourself. Your people, the Nomads of the _Seas of the Oasis_ are a mystery to us all.” 

“Whatever you want to know. I'm an open book.”

She beamed as they made there way to a ground transport station. Looking around, it was clear that all of the Troglytes had been instructed to give Droxine a wide berth if she were with Spock. This worked in their favor, since it meant no one tried to stop them.

As Droxine stepped up to the Troglytes who controlled the transporter---which looked like similar technology to the transporter Spock had used to bring Nekae from her ship to the Enterprise---Nekae turned to her companion and lowered her voice.

“You are _sure the_ e _xperience would be fascinating_ , el?”

“Indeed. As I told you nothing about any z _enite crystal formations in the caves_ , I am sure what we find will be fascinating.”

“I took the risk that she has never had the pleasure of a visit to the mines.”

“A logical conclusion based on the evidence before us. The Advisors and the Troglytes lead almost completely separate lives.”

Something about this felt like a game mission, and she congratulated herself again for introducing him to the character-based roleplaying game.

“So, what do you do?”

Droxine had turned to speak to her, and for a moment Nekae was at a loss.

“Do?"

“What is your occupation?”

_She's trying to show him that they are better matched._

“Oh. I am the Bridge of the Family _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_.”

“And what does a Bridge _do_?”

She could hear the attitude, and truthfully she was trying to dodge that question. For all the interaction they had, Nekae still didn't completely trust the desert aristocrat. He was desertborn, after all.

And if he knew what she did, he would better understand how to fight her, if it came to that.

“I bridge the distance between the living and the dead.”

Nekae spoke with all of the mystery and majesty of Bridges past, hoping to curb any more detailed questions.

“Sounds spooky.”

The transporter affect made everything around her fade, and then they were on the planet. It was so much warmer, and Nekae couldn't help but sigh a little at the relief. At her side she felt him relax as well.

_Ask her about herself. She **wants** to talk about herself._

“What do you do?” She turned the Princess's question back on her.

Then she saw them.

 _Ka'dri_ on _ka'dri_ , side-by-side. The sands around her were filled with the shell corpses of the _ka'dri_ , and by the looks of it they had all met their deaths in horrific, destructive ways. They were literally everywhere. Crawling on the sand, watching from the peaks above, and crowding in all of the cave openings.

_Holy Molten Core! There are so many!_

She needed to be normal. To the aristocrat and the princess these sands were empty and the three of them were alone.

“I am an artist,” Droxine continued, blessedly self-absorbed and completely oblivious to her terror. “Right now I am the Director of the Stratos City Museum . I manage exhibitions and curated collections.”

The Nomad felt something at her feet. Looking down, there was a _ka'dri_ grabbing at her leg. It was the shell of a woman, her filmy, unsubstantial body separated into two parts: her head, arms, and chest were all in one piece, several feet away from what looked like her torso and legs, which were kicking in the sand near where they had beamed down.

She had crawled over to them on her arms, spine sticking out behind her, and was grabbing Nekae's leg.

Nekae jumped, grabbing at her Beacon's arm to remind herself what was real, solid, alive... and what was not.

She felt him look over at her and kicked at the _ka'dri_ , taking a deep breath.

“The exhibits have been a lot of fun, haven't they?” Nekae asked him, hoping desperately that her voice didn't sound cracked in fear.

“Quite enjoyable.” He responded, seemingly unphased. He opened the top of his tricorder and started to take readings.

_He's staying on task. You should do the same._

“While I am totally in agreement with this lazy heat, it seems like more than Troglytes would find comfortable,.” Nekae tried to keep her voice light as she put some distance between herself and the  _ka'dri gr_ apping at her heels. It crawled after her and it took all her control to ignore it.

_How can you see this and act like you don't? It's a freak show out here!_

And then Droxine gave her the perfect distraction. She looked over and the princess was shrugging into the aristocrat's dress coat.

Nekae imagined stalking over to her, grabbing her by her pale, slim arm and tearing the coat from her shoulders before she snapped her neck. Then she'd watch the princess's _ka'dri_ rise just in time for her to take the aristocrat in front of her.

_Focus! You need to get her into the mines, remember?_

She took a deliberate breath, calming down.

“Thank you, Spock. Why don't we get her inside one of these caves.”

Moderating her stride, she forced a stalk into a calmer gait and fixed her face with an expression of gratitude.

If the aristocrat belonged to anyone here it was her.

“Which way?” Nekae asked, hoping desperately to move this thing along and then she followed Droxine's motion.

“What about over there?”

The cave she pointed to was full of _ka'dri_ , all crowding at the entrance. They might not have recognized that she was a Bridge, but they all knew who Droxine was. To get inside, the Nomad knew she was going to have to walk through them.

“Of course.” Nekae couldn't keep the dismay out of her voice. For her, walking through the _ka'dri_ was an utterly unpleasant experience. Spock moved them forward and they pushed through the dead hordes and into the mine.

As she started pushing through their filmy bodies they assaulted her senses. While touching the living had no effect on her, being within the space of a _ka'dri_ felt like an assault. She felt herself slowing down and dropping back behind the princess.

 _I should have come with you..._  

If Sabbas or D'erryl were here she could press against them and use them as a shield to push through the mass of insubstantial corpses.

“You are distressed.”

It was only when the aristocrat whispered that she realized she was pressing against him, using him as a shield in place of her family.

_Do it. This is his mission and if he wants your help he should help you in return._

“Can you carry both of us at once?” she asked, hoping desperately that it wouldn't come to that.

He seemed to think about it for a moment as they got through a narrow passage and into a wider tunnel.

“Yes.”

“If I fall, get us out of here.”

“Are you likely to fall?”

“Mister Spock,” Droxine interrupted, so self-absorbed that she hadn't even realized they were speaking, “perhaps you'll share with us what you learned about the zenite formations. How far into the mines will we need to go before we find them?”

_How is possible she is this **irritating**???_

She was surprised to feel a little indignant about that. The princess was just concerned about where they were going. At least she was farther ahead and not crowding in anymore.

The _ka'dri_ still were, and she was starting to feel short of breath.

She wanted out of here, and it was time the princess shared her urgency.

_Whoa, wait a minute. What are you--_

“I don't understand, Droxine. The planet seemed pretty awful for Troglytes and down here isn't much better. Do you really think they should have to live here?”

_That's a little antagonistic..._

“Of course. They work in the mines. If they lived on the surface there would be an enormous cost in energy and time getting them down and back up every day.”

Provincial attitudes were baffling to Nekae. As a Nomad, she was surrounded by beings of other species and other Nomads who shared that life experience. To anyone not buried in this culture, it was obvious what its problems were.

“Because they do all of your labor intensive work for you---” Nekae responded strongly resisting the urge to shake the Ardanan.

One of the next rulers of this world had been stuck running a museum, meeting dignitaries as someone's daughter at dinner instead of as an Advisor at the negotiating table.

“That is their function in our society.”

_Slow down!_

“But why? And who decides who has to live and work in the mines and who gets to create art in the sun on the cloud city platform?”

Her anger was pushing back the _ka'dri_ , making them give her a wide berth.

And she **_was_** angry. Because she was thinking about the exhibits Droxine had put together. Yes, they were all designed to help her secure Spock's attention (and perhaps his attentions), but they also had another thing in common: they were all traditional. Nationalistic.

They were all conservative.

Busts of past Advisors, animals and plants, classical musical compositions...

Her father was grooming her to become a conservative, status quo leader who revered the beautiful artistic and cultural history of Stratos and the cloud cities. One who thought the Troglytes weren't even capable of art and had no idea what life outside of Ardana was like.

“Because they earned it!” Droxine was enraged now, and the _ka'dri_ were backing off her too.

_Wait! I was wrong---what you're doing is working---keep going!_

“How?!”

“Ardana was once a beautiful, fertile planet. And then the 'industries' of our world polluted it, first destroying natural lands away from where people lived and then causing so much damage that the world started to overheat. They pretended like there wasn't a problem until it was too late, while the rest of us worked together to construct the cloud cities. Staying here is their penance and---because they loved industry _so much_ \---labor is their role.”

The quaffed, poised daughter of Plasus was ranting and raving, stalking back and forth and brandishing her arms as if ready for a fight.

“And now, generations later, you still enforce this punishment?”

“YES!”

The princess was gone. So was the museum curator. In her place was a Troglyte.

_The human Kirk was right._

She needed to wake up from her traditionalist view now, and Nekae knew just how to do it.

She was going to show Droxine what the body count from her father's policies looked like.

 _Wait, I can't be here while you do this!_  

She felt Sabbas fade back behind D'ekter's shields and knew her actual Beacon was paying attention now. He was shoring up all the shields around her, bracing for the dark wave.

Nekae felt the tattoo ink creep up her body, winding up her shoulders and looping around her neck before it snaked down her arm.

She let her arm rise, assuming the mantle of Bridges past. She imagined she was an ancient, angry goddess and let her spine straighten in a roll, each vertebrae one at a time.

“Droxine, First Daughter of Plasus---I offer you the chance to cross the Bridge.”

The princess whipped her head around, focusing on her like prey, but Nekae was unfazed. She was a Bridge.

And this was a performance.

Droxine had a sudden shift of mood and grabbed her hand. The ink grew from Nekae onto Droxine, winding up her pale arm hidden in the Starfleet jacket.

The Nomad knew it was working when the princess started to scream. 

* * *

 

Spock turned the tricorder on the two of them, no longer trying to hide that he was taking readings of the First Daughter and not just the mines.

“What are you seeing?” he asked, hearing the urgent edge to his own voice.

“What are we seeing?” Droxine demanded, screaming at Nekae.

He cringed at the volume and pitch---but Nekae did not. She seemed... removed from the situation in some significant way.

“We're seeing the inevitable result of inequality. While Stratos is a life of artistic leisure, the Troglytes live in backbreaking toil. Literally.”

Droxine's eyes were wide and a gloss of lacrimal fluid covered them. Her hand went to her throat.

“We need to get out of here...” Droxine said, still bouncing on her heels, ready to flee.

“They cannot hurt you.” Nekae kept the Ardanan's hand, her voice a mix of reassurance and frustration. “Even when they were alive they couldn't, even when they knew their family and friends were suffering and dying.”

Droxine turned then, and her shoulders pulled up and back as if attacked.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” she demanded.

“I expect you to be what you say you are.” Nekae's voice was calmer now, as if she were talking from far away. There was something different about how it sounded too, like there was an added baritone underneath a restrained version of her normal trumpet. “You have been throwing yourself at Spock this whole night, making claim-after-claim that you are equals, a perfect match.”

He reeled back, both eyebrows in his bangs, utterly unused to being so baldly revealed. Even as flamboyant and emotional as Kirk was, he had never put Spock on the spot like this.

“We are equals and we are well-matched...” Droxine trailed off, mind still affected by the dust from the zenite and thinking slowly.

“Are you? He's a desert aristocrat and a Prince and, according to your father, you're a work of art. A painting.”

“That's not what he meant...”

“A princess rules over her people and makes compassionate decisions to improve their wellbeing. A ruler is receptive to the suffering of her people. Do you dispute that they are suffering?”

Droxine looked around the room, clearly seeing something he was not, her face haunted.

“No,” she said simply.

“Then do something about it! What are you, a princess or a painting?”

Spock watched as something changed in the Ardanan, her sea green eyes flashing and her whole body straightening up.

“I am destined to serve as an Advisor, as my mother served and her mother before that.”

“Prove it.”

Nekae released the taller woman's hand and slowly the tattoo seemed to fade off Droxine's skin. On Nekae it receded back up her arm, over her shoulder, and down until her dress covered it.

The Nomad turned to him then and the removed look was gone. Now she just seemed exhausted.

“Let's get out of here and back on the platform.

He was at her side, offering his arm. He watched Droxine---remembering the Nomad's early question about carrying them both---but she seemed to be able to walk.

She almost looked energized.

They exited the mine and Droxine called up to the transporter platform.

“We know about the Disruptors,” Nekae explained once they had stopped walking and were waiting for the beam out. Droxine looked over at her in alarm, but she continued, “and have met their leader. She's holding some of the Federation guests hostage.”

Droxine stopped herself from saying whatever it was that came to mind first.

“I could never understand why they acted as they did, so violently and with such secrecy. But now, I must consider how one would be expected to act in circumstances such as these.”

They beamed from the planet to the platform. The hot sandy winds were replaced by cold, filtered air and he could feel the Nomad react to the temperature change between them. Droxine seemed to notice as well, her eyes narrowing in alarm, and she shrugged out of his uniform jacket, passing it back to him.

The Nomad barely seemed to notice him put it on her.

“Negotiate for their release. Tell the Troglytes what they need to hear.”

Droxine was nodding, and they both moved Nekae over to a stone bench and lowered her down. Then the First Daughter was looking at him.

“Where are they?”

She did not need to be more specific, but he did not actually know where they were being held. Instead of answering, he drew his communicator and called his Captain.

“Mr. Spock,” the leader of the Disruptors answered, and Droxine gasped, obviously recognizing the voice.

“Droxine is prepared to open an honest dialogue between Troglytes and Stratos city-dwellers. We are prepared to bring her to you for an exchange.”

“What sort of fool do you take me for? I will speak to her in the South Atrium. If I like what I hear, I'll tell you where you can find your Captain and Doctor.”

He looked up at Droxine for confirmation and she nodded, one restrained motion.

“Very well.”

The South Atrium was apparently where guest quarters had been prepared for the Starfleet and Federation party guests who wished to stay the night. They were relatively empty, save for the Troglyte wait staff that swarmed the space.

This space was obviously designed with several different purposes in mind. Now that he knew that the Disruptors' leader was also Droxine's assistant so much about the evening made sense. Even this place. For Droxine, it was where she expected for the two of them to retire after they toured the museum, and it was both comfortable for him and unassuming as to what might happen next between them.

For Vanna it was a place where hostages could be isolated. This is where diplomatic reception guests who had over-indulged were allowed to sleep it off, so it made sense that there were more wait staff and fewer recording devices.

The looks he had gotten escorting Droxine to this part of the city---even with Nekae in tow---were only slightly disturbing to his control.

Now he sat in a plush red chair, listening to the steady breath of the Nomad asleep in the bedchamber just behind him, watching as Droxine and Vanna went back and forth, brokering an impressively aggressive transition out of the caste system Sarek had strongly suspected into the type of civilization more befitting a member world of the Federation.

Moments ago (4.52 Standard minutes) Vanna had given the order to release Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy. He could hear them approach and rose, holding his hands behind his back and waiting expectantly for them.

“Spock,” Captain Kirk greeted him, smiling broadly, “Good work, Commander.”

“I second that,” McCoy added. They both looked tired as well.

“Perhaps we should check on the status of the Enterprise,” Spock suggested, knowing that McCoy would not truly relax and rest until he was back in his quarters. Kirk drew his communicator.

“Captain Kirk to Enterprise, do you read?”

“Enterprise here, Captain.”

 _Lieutenant Reyes_ Spock's mind supplied. That meant Lts. Palmer and Uhura were unavailable.

“Report.”

“Mission was a success. Lt. Gaila has been recovered. The away team and Bridge crew have rotated off and are resting. We are three hours away.”

Spock cleared his throat.

“Two hours and fifty eight minutes away, I mean. I can have them prepared for a briefing when you return---”  
  
“---that won't be necessary,” the Captain headed him off, “Let them rest. Schedule a briefing for Alpha shift, 0900 hours.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Contact me again when you are approaching parking orbit. Kirk out.”

“Well, that answers that,” McCoy said as Kirk closed his communicator. The Doctor lowered himself into a chair. Something about his action was contagious, and quickly they were all seated.

“Where's...?” Kirk started.

“She is resting.”

“Oh...”

The Captain's assumption was inappropriate, but the Doctor chimed in before he could correct it.

“How did it go? Two birds with one stone?”

Spock ducked his head, not wanting to answer. Were they all Vulcans, these questions would not be asked. Were Nekae a Vulcan, he could claim privacy and not answer. Had he not asked for advice, perhaps he could claim privacy for himself.

“Unclear. I require an interval of meditation to reflect before I can draw any firm conclusions.”

“Sure...”

The Doctor was sarcastic, but instead of continuing the argument he just leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

In this instance, where the needs of several beings in addition to his own were in play, Spock felt completely justified in his being ready to go home.

Behind him he heard several sounds and then Nekae appeared. He reflected that the sounds of their reunion had awakened her.

She looked around the room, took a seat on the bench he had settled on, and turned to him. 

“One thing about oppressive planets I never could stomach---all the damn ghosts!”

Spock took back every negative thought he had about the universal translator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wraps up The Cloud Minders Redux. Again, special thanks to you reviewers---you always push me to think through these Original Series episodes just that much more. I hope you enjoyed my take on this one!


	19. Chapter 19

Jim Kirk sighed as the transporter beam faded, leaving them standing on the Enterprise transporter pads.

Some movement got his attention and he looked over to see McCoy unabashedly tearing off his dress uniform jacket and working his way out of the shirt, leaving only his black undershirt and some ruffled brown hair.

Out of habit he checked his other side as well. Spock stood up straight, his face fixed in that way that looked to Jim like it took a lot of effort.

They were both tired.

Jim felt like he could get a workout in before going back to his quarters. They'd turned a diplomatic function into a Nancy Drew mystery and left a planet moving towards equality in a way it never had before. It was days like this that reminded him how mad and desperate and inconceivable his love of this ship was.

“Well I don't know about you two but I'm gonna hit the hay.” McCoy stumbled down and walked out past him.

“I, too, find an interval of meditation a welcome self-care activity.” Spock passed him and walked into the corridor after McCoy.

As soon as Kirk passed the first wall viewer he decided that back to his quarters was the best option for him. The shipwide training announcement was out now, playing on every screen in corridors, rec rooms, and available on personal padds.  It had been sent via shipweb to everyone on the Enterprise and explained the logistics and other temporary changes they would be adopting to accommodate the influx of new personnel.

The Command Crew had taped it before the away missions and it was too much a reminder of what he would be doing as soon as his break was over. It felt surreal. He stepped into the turbolift and couldn't help but watch it on the viewer as he moved towards the Crew Deck.

 

**_Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement_ **

 

_Captain Kirk stood in front of the Captain's chair on the Bridge._

_“On Stardate 2260.274 we will be joined by the largest group of new crewmembers in our ship's short history. These new additions will include new faces in every department and every section.”_

_Beside him, an orange panel appeared, displaying the breakdown of new crew by department._

_“Our most important task in the next seven days will be to make sure these new crew stop being 'them' and become 'us'. While many of you have been tasked with training that will last longer than a Standard week, that is how long we have to turn our guests into our family.”_

_The panel shifted from orange to blue, displaying a schedule of upcoming Enterprise events:_

**_2260.285:_ ** _Resume patrol and exploration of the Seas of the Oasis_

**_2260.302:_ ** _Begin ferrying support staff to the Federation Conference site_

**_2260: 335:_ ** _Begin ferrying diplomatic staff to the Federation Conference site_

**_2260:364:_ ** _Federation Conference_

_“Our next few months include both exploratory and security missions, and at any point one crewmember could hold the lives of everyone on this ship in their hands. Our greatest strength is that we work together, many moving parts working toward one common goal. More than a team, or a crew, on the Enterprise we are a family.”_

_The panel faded again, this time from blue to green, and filled with morale statistics for Enterprise as compared with the average scores for Starfleet deep space postings._

_“It is no secret that the Enterprise is the best posting in Starfleet. Now we get a chance to show a new group of fellow officers why. In the coming days, remember how you felt when you were new. Remember what you needed and think about what you wish you had known.”_

_The panel shifted sides and turned into an agenda for the training video:_

  1. **_Opening:_** _Captain Kirk_
  2. **_Shipwide Logistics:_** _Commander Spock, First Officer, Science Officer_
  3. **_Medical Logistics:_** _McCoy, Chief Medical Officer_
  4. **_Training Logistics:_** _Marcus, Science Officer_
  5. **_Incoming Crew:_** _Commander Scott, Chief Engineer_
  6. **_New Fraternization Regulations:_** _Uhura, Chief Communications Officer_
  7. **_Opportunities for Socializing:_** _Sulu, Chief Helmsman and Ensign Chekov, Chief Navigator_



_“All of us will be teaching our new crewmembers in the coming days. Let's make sure they understand what it means to be a member of the Enterprise crew.”_

* * *

 

_[What part are you on now?]_

Carol looked over at her padd, typing a quick response before she settled back on her creeper and rolled under the Intruder Control station.

_[Done with mine. Scott is next.]_

Christine was already packed and had trained her replacement. Now she was just watching her old team of field medics prep for an away mission, and Carol could tell she was ready to get on the transport ship bound for Enterprise.

_[What's Mr. Scott going to talk about?]_

Carol knew that Christine was excited about coming back to the Enterprise. When she left, Carol has still been a weapons expert on Earth whose main experience in space was field testing weapons on Admiral Marcus's experimental warship. Now, even if things were still bad for Christine on the ship, she would have one of her best friends here with her.

_[He's talking about what the people who are coming on board will be like.]_

Personally, Carol was sure Christine would fit right back in, and any rumors would quickly die as people got adjusted to all the new faces. That, plus the shift in tone that came with Captain Kirk's reprimand request, would be enough to smooth her transition.

_[What, because to folks who've always been on a ship we deep spacers are weirdos?]_

Carol heard her padd go off again, but ignored it for a few minutes as she completed her modifications to the console. Garth had gone on at length about a number of ways he could compromise the security on a starship. She'd put it all in her report, but thought it prudent to go on and make the modifications on Enterprise before they received orders to do so.

That, and she was only able to work out for so long before she had to find another way to work off her anxious energy. Garth reminded her of her father and the last thing she wanted to do with him on her mind was sit still.

In the background, the training continued on the viewer.

 

**_Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement_ **

 

_Mr. Scott was in a harness, suspended above a network of rafters that crisscrossed over the warp core._

_“So, many of you have posted questions about how our new crew will adjust to life on Enterprise.”_

_He wasn't looking at the camera as he spoke, intent instead on his work recalibrating a frame bracket. Beside him, an orange panel appeared, displaying the chart with the prior positions of all new crew:_

  1. _Other starships:26.0%_
  2. _Frontier postings: 25.3%_
  3. _Waystations: 15.6%_
  4. _Planetary ground postings:2.9%_
  5. _Colonies:17.9%_
  6. _Outposts:12.3%_



_“Now, even though you were all posting questions like 'What is it like working on the Frontier?' and 'How hard do you think it will be for people on one-man outposts to join a crew of thousands?' I know what you really meant...”_

_Then he stopped scanning and looked into the camera._

_“You're wondering about these people who work onna edge of the galaxy, usually in small teams or alone. You think all that time out there in deep space alone mighta driven them bonkers, or they were already bonkers and that's how they got out there inna first place.”_

_He repelled down to the deck, past the warp core. There was Keenser, along with a collection of Enterprise staff from nearly every Department._

_“Truth is, people have been coming to Enterprise from the outer reaches of the galaxy for months now. You already know what's gonna be like for people transitioning from posts on the outer reaches of the galaxy---where supply shipments were as rare as company---to Enterprise, where people and sandwiches are plentiful.”_

_The panel shifted to yellow and the names, ranks, and departments of everyone in the shot were scrolled along the screen._

_“Peer mentors have volunteered from every department for this transition. Before you ask, say, or do something you'll regret later reach outta one of us.”_

_Then he reached Yeoman Santiago, who was holding a tray. Taking off the top he took out a sandwich._

_“And if you are wondering howta best strike up a conversation with someone who's just come from the outer reaches of the known galaxy, offer them a sandwich and a coffee. Trust me, they're hungry.”_

_Then he took a big bite of said sandwich, crunching through replicated lettuce as the training video faded._

* * *

 

Nyota let her heavy eyes close and laid flat on her back on the bed.

Then a hot body pressed on top of her, throwing one leg over her legs. She felt it with her eyes closed.

Deep breaths in and out through her nose, heavy eyelids, a warm leg over her legs, a spicy smell...

Her eyes snapped open to the sight of a curvy green thigh over her legs.

“Bet I know what you're thinking,” Gaila said, sounding not a bit tired, her red replicated curls pooling on Nyota's chest.

“What am I thinking?” she asked, the question and response almost automatic.

They had been apart for almost two years and it felt like Gaila had just returned from a short training cruise.

“That this time it really is green on brown?”

Anyone else would have been hit for a comment like that, but Nyota was just relieved. She stretched, her back arching.

That's when she started crying.

In a heartbeat she was rolled over, her head pillowed in warm, soft breasts.

“Too soon...?” Gaila started.

“No! No...” Nyota pushed herself up so she was sitting. “I've felt like I'm losing my mind, not having anyone to talk to about this. I like T'Lok, but she's a healer and I need my friend or my sister or...”

Gaila sat up, leaning in attentively.

“...and I lost you and I couldn't talk to him about it because he had lost _everyone_ and _his world_ and then I lost him and the only one I ever talked to about him was you because you just already knew and...”

Her friend just nodded and let her talk. She wasn't sure how long she kept on, but eventually it felt like she'd said everything she needed to say and was just starting to sputter out. Her eyes got heavy again and she slipped back down to the bed.

She should have been wired, on guard for emotional ambiguity, worried that sleeping with Gaila after not sleeping with her all this time would ruin their friendship just as she got it back.

But it was Gaila, her best friend and an Orion with very libertine views on sexuality and sexual situations.

All she felt was safe.

Above their heads on the viewer, the training went on while they dozed.

 

**_Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement---Shipwide Announcement_ **

 

_Lt. Uhura stood on the Bridge next to the main viewing screen, which displayed a panel with the header **New Fraternization Regulations** at the top._

_“Starfleet has released **New Fraternization Regulations** that have replaced the fraternization rules in an updated fleet handbook. All of you have a copy on your padds, but I'll go over the regulations and the logistics around following them.”_

_The viewer changed, displaying pictures of Enterprise crew at parties and shipwide events. After several pictures from holiday parties, it stopped on one where **The Enterprise Players** were frozen in a scene, crew seated in circles around them._

_“Starfleet understands that, for those of us on deep space missions, we have to both live and work on our ships for years at a time. As much as possible, they want our off duty time to be exactly that, lived without duties. For most of the species serving on Enterprise, that includes relationships that form and grow naturally over time, including romantically and sexually.”_

_The viewer flipped through another couple of photos: an ensign from Medical kissing a Security officer under the mistletoe, two Specialists in Engineering holding hands while listening to a musical performance in the Rec room, and four people sitting at a table sharing a meal with candles and replicated wine._

_“To ensure that this freedom is kept by all crew while guarding against any undue pressure or influence, a couple of new regulations have been created around shipboard fraternization.”_

_The last picture shrunk and moved over to the left of the viewer as the new rules were listed on the right._

_“All crew have been given a few new questions on their shipwide profile. These questions include whether you are open to being approached by fellow shipmates for romantic or sexual advances, whether you are single, and there is an option to 'declare a relationship' with a fellow crewman. All of these answers are set by default to indicate a lack of interest, so please go in and update them if necessary.”_

_The viewer displayed a sample crew profile, and the cursor quickly walked through how to update the new settings._

_“According to new regulations, if a person's profile is set to reflect that they are not open to being approached, approaching them or making suggestive comments is a violation. It is up to the person considering approaching to check that status first.”_

_Now the screen changed to another list, this time of social behaviors._

_“If the person is open to romantic or sexual advances, regulations allow for a range of behaviors that encompass the courting rituals of a wide variety of different species.”_

_The display returned to the mock crew profile page, and the cursor started to change relationship status._

_“If you are at the point in a relationship with a fellow crewperson where you want to engage in additional behaviors, including advanced courtship rituals, marriage, or co-habitation, first regulations state that you must both change your relationship status to reflect mutual agreement. Both people must make this change under their own log in, and it can be made either public or private. Security will get the updated status and Hospitality will contact you if arrangements need to be made for quarters. An update in your Medical chart will be made as well, in case you need additional vaccinations or contraceptives.”_

_The viewer changed again, this time displaying statistics around relationship abuse, coercion, and violence._

_“Additional security measures have also been put in place to ensure all of us feel safe. If you are feeling unduly bothered or harassed by a crewperson, but not yet ready to report specific incidents, you can use your profile to put them on a “Not Interested” list.”_

_The viewscreen walked through how to find and add a name to the list._

_“Adding someone to the list is not punitive, but will alert Security. If they see you with that person in a Rec area, they will watch to make sure your boundaries are respected.”_

_The viewer switched to a list of contacts._

_“If you have questions about the new regulations, please consult your Crew Deck team leader.”_

* * *

 

Khan treated this day as he would any other.

At 0700 hours he rose, stretched and ran through his physical conditioning regimen in his cell. The new Tantalus Security staff were all former Enterprise crew, and that meant his requests for exercise equipment had gone unfulfilled, leading him to use the frame of his bunk, his workstation table, and the chair in his cell as resistance during his exercises.

They refused to give him anything not securely anchored to the walls and the floor. And they had an accurate estimation of what “securely anchored” would have to mean where he was concerned.

Then he was escorted to the Mess Hall, where he was allowed to take breakfast alone or with a small group of other inmates handpicked by Security. He sat with the others today, politely nodding as Lethe McGhee ranted and raved about computers controlling their lives.

In addition to the posted guards, Security officers had taken to impersonating prisoners. Khan carefully avoided looking at inmates Marlow and He'thag, both sitting at other tables keeping tabs on him.

After breakfast Khan was escorted with a different group of inmates into the Courtyard, a large area within the penal colony walls grown out and cultivated to resemble a forest. It had taken Khan twelve days to put together that the plants weren't plants at all, but instead some digital illusion. Sticks, rocks, and other 'natural' elements smuggled out of the Courtyard disappeared as they left the enclosure---though that didn't stop the Security personnel from adamantly policing everyone who tried.

Khan approved of the deception. Finally he was surrounded by people who realized how dangerous he was.

From the Courtyard he changed groups again, and was brought to a room with an assortment of animals and plants. The “care therapy” was supposed to make inmates like him understand the value of life and he had been paired with a year old tabby cat called Whiskers. As he approached the feline rose, stretched, and then sat waiting for Khan to open his kennel.

As Khan brushed the cat's thick orange coat, he worked through the implications of his own mechanizations.

He had conducted two experiments to test the penal colony's security: First, when he made contact with Captain Garth during prisoner intake and transfer, setting the stage for Garth's rebellion on Elba 2. And then again, before Garth even had a chance to put his plan into motion, when Khan saw an opportunity to test Tantalus itself.

Drawing Enterprise to Tantalus had just been a bonus. Even now he reviewed Lt. Nyota Uhura's gasp when she answered his call almost as often as he reviewed his meeting with Specialist Marla McGivers.

Putting the brush down, he picked up a toy---a plastic stick with a string and a feather on the end of it---and Whiskers jumped off the counter, running into the open area designed for play.

As he tossed the feather back and forth exercising the small animal, he thought about his most recent discovery, opening it like an ornately wrapped package in his mind.

Two days ago, using the basic computer access allowed to all inmates, he stumbled across something extraordinary.

They were foolish to give him any access to computers, Earth history, or even basic information about the Federation. His lack of knowledge about how the universe worked in what was essentially the “far future” for him was the Normals' main advantage. The more he learned about the new universal order, the more tools he had to plan his escape.

Two days ago he had learned that one of his stowaways strongly resembled a prominent Federation scholar.

“Strongly resembled” was not quite accurate enough. They looked identical, at least through the sleeper tube window. He had identified 37 shared physical traits---and that was just looking through the plexiglass.

Khan noticed that there were stowaways in his sleeper tubes the first time Admiral Marcus let him inspect them. He had chosen to keep that information to himself, and in all interactions with Starfleet personnel he treated the 72 sleeper tubes as all one piece. All family.

The six stowaways were most likely Normals fleeing the zombies, though it was possible they were Augmented individuals created in the Americas. The North American scientists in particular had been more... flamboyant in their creations, creating individuals with unpredictable abilities instead of just the superhumans created in labs on other parts of the planet.

At the least, Khan anticipated some amusement in waking Normals up to this future. At the most, he thought he might get some new allies with unconventional skills.

Now he knew he had even more than that: He had a hostage.

Khan did not consider for a moment that his stowaway actually was the Federation Scholar. But she looked like the woman, so much so that she was almost certainly a genetic ancestor.

When he and his people left the planet it had already been decimated by the undead. His own research in Earth history since revealed that the number of people and amount of genetic diversity was so low that human extinction had been a possibility. All Earth-born humans shared genetic material with Normals from his time, and if he needed to he was certain he could satisfy even the over-cerebral Spock that his prisoner could in fact be a person of Federation renown.

And the Scholar wasn't around to defend herself, or assert her existence.

Khan led his “pet” back to his kennel, locking him away in an ironic twist before he was led to lunch surrounded by guards.

* * *

 

Spock sat at his workstation, the chair turned away from the table to make room for the harp he straddled. Idly playing, he let his mind wander without restraint.

His meditations had been relieving, but not fruitful. The time spent meditating on the thoughts he refused to entertain while on Ardana relieved the urge to think them, but he had been unable to draw any firm conclusions.

He desperately needed Nyota's insight. Too tired, he did not even attempt to correct his use of her name in his mind. If he thought about it, at this moment he found that he needed her as a friend, as they were before they were anything more.

Upon inspection, he decided it were best not to think about it at all.

The door chimed and he raised his head in a jerk. According to his calculations, McCoy would be satisfied with the preliminary examination he had given Spock after trapping him in the turbolift on the way to their quarters for at least another 4.52 hours. Kirk was less predictable, but had looked intent on engaging in physical activity and, if he did, would not seek Spock out for at least 8.12 hours.

He had no idea who was at his door.

“Enter.”

He suppressed a strong surge of emotion as Gaila entered, rising to greet her.

While he had not yet read the official reports from the Elba 2 mission, the conversations he heard on the way to his quarters included that Gaila was thin, frail, with none of her hair---but the truth before him was much less stark. She did weigh less than her norm and her hair seemed to be one of the replicated “sew in” types popular on the Enterprise, but other than that she seemed energized and radiant.

“Gaila, I am pleased to see you alive and well.”

She seemed to relax into a wide, full-face smile, her shoulders dropping as well. She also appreciated the elevated temperature of his quarters, no doubt.

“Glad to hear you say that, 'cause I'm in a pickle.”

Gaila brushed past him and dropped unceremoniously into his chair, moving his harp out of her way.

 _Inconsiderate_ he remembered, surprised at how little her touching his harp---now a priceless relic, crafted from the wood of a now extinct tree---affected him.

He was used to her, and like all Vulcans he was a creature of habit. She came with Nyota, a constant green companion in class, then in his office when Uhura was his aide, then at tea and lunch and dinner as friends and then even when they were more than that.

Gaila was inconsiderate, or she would have left them alone more often, and he would have gotten to know her less.

He pulled over a rolling stool, sitting as well. This seemed to cue Gaila to continue.

“I think I might have---wait, what's happening here? Something...” She stopped mid-sentence, looking around in confusion and sniffing the air. He listened and reached for his tricorder, knowing she would act the same way sensing an intruder as she would remembering some arcane piece of celebrity gossip.

Then she looked at him, wide-eyed.

“You aren't affected by my pheromones. I... I thought you would be I... just, seeing Ny and I...”

She stopped, looking him up and down, eyes narrowed. And then they opened wide. And then they narrowed again.”

He sighed, remembering that she was emotional and dramatic to the point of exhaustion at times.

“I waive my normal rights to privacy and ask that you speak freely, though I still reserve the right to refuse any and all questions.” Spock recited their old agreement tiredly, but instead of calming her emotionalism even this triggered some feeling. She smiled at him and he was unable to fully interpret the emotion on her face.

“Nyota says that even after that I should give warnings before 'dropping bombshells'...”

“You know that is not required with me. If you please..."

“Do you still consider yourself Nyota's mate, or are you still considering the possibility that you could become mates again sometime in the future?”

At that moment, he made a mental note to never, ever dismiss Nyota's advice so quickly again, no matter the circumstances.

“No.” When that seemed insufficient, he took a deep breath and continued, “No, it will never be healthy for her to be in a mental bond with me. My mind has confused her mind with my mother's, almost certainly because they are both human, and I have been utterly unsuccessful in convincing my deep consciousness that my mother has passed. It is inadvisable for me to consider any human or humanoid partners, and it very certainly always will be.”

He could see her face display a range of emotions, glad reading her was well-beyond his interpersonal skill level most of the time.

“Can I be?”

He was fortunate that he had just awoken from meditation and was rested enough for this. He considered several responses and then settled on one.

“I do not know. Are you able?”

She smiled at that and it seemed to lessen the tension her question caused.

“Yes. She's pretty open to alien courtship rituals and customs as you well know.”

He paused at this and focused inwardly. Statements like this one were the test. Could he handle not only accepting his loss, but seeing Gaila with Nyota and socializing with them together or either one of them separately.

“I do.”

They shared a look then, and a nod. He had the strong notion that they understood one another, but no data to back that assertion up.

“I mean it,” she said in a low voice, leaning forward, “You two are my best friends, and this hasn't been easy for me and I cannot lose either one of you right now. I feel fairly confident she's down to ride, but you're questionable right now...”

Everything seemed to slow, as he processed the chains of logic unfurling at the meaning of her words, tracing them back.

When Gaila was always seated in his classes next to Nyota, only walking away after having made loud statements noting their potential compatibility, he was annoyed. When she came to his office often, staying and doing work while Uhura worked for him and even on occasion going there to work while Nyota was away, he was restrained. When she joined them for meal breaks, tea, and even occasionally on situations scheduled as “dates”, he was frustrated.

And on all those occasions, Gaila was enjoying time with her two friends. And at some point with her best friends.

He could, in this moment, inform her of the reality---which would instantly end a close friendship for her---or he could lie.

At that moment his synapses fired off in a connection chain that linked his current dilemma with Gaila to a conversation and a similar dilemma with Nekae.

The Nomad claimed that, reframing experiences around changes made to relationships after the fact was not lying, but rather making the past more honest. At the time, he accepted her logic as sound.

Deciding that it was still sound logic, he leaned forward himself, doing everything possible to communicate his sincerity to Gaila.

“As do I. Should you wish to pursue a relationship with Nyota I would not stand opposed. Our relationship would remain unchanged.”

He regretted his words almost instantly when a green body hit him, falling into his lap for a hug.

“Thanks bestie!” Gaila said, face muffled in the collar of his robe. His whole body was stiff in shock.

“Off.”

“Yes, Sir!”

She was back in her seat, but her posture was somehow incompatible with the moment. She was looking at his eyes, almost like she was examining him.

“Okay, so new question. Why aren't you affected by my pheromones?”

He considered her question as he had not the first time she asked. Were he unbound to Nyota, and also unbound to anyone else, her pheromones should work as well on him as any other female-attracted crewperson on the Enterprise.

“Oh, wait,” she said, and her mouth twisted into the smile that always indicated some ill-advised plan, “I know.”

She stood, hands on hips, in a stance like she was ready for battle.

“And to think I thought for sure that you were gonna die of a fatal case of monogamy. I am so impressed with you right now. All of these talks and all of this time I thought you didn't hear me.”

He reconsidered his offer of friendship. It was emotionally-motivated and perhaps made in haste.

“Friend, don't you worry about a thing. You might be a hot, wet blanket looking boring-er on the outside, but I know you are actually a sweet, attentive, passionate, possessive boner on the inside. Whoever they are, they are a perfect match for you. We are **_going_** to make this happen.”

He stood again as she left, more than a little confused by her prediction and repressing a feeling of agitated unease at her conviction.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Kirk stopped abruptly just inside the door to the Conference Room. Panning around the room he noted that, thought it wasn't quite 1400 hours, every Department head was present and seemed ready to start.

Even more significant was the fact that both Science Department heads were present, both in Science blues, one crown of nearly black hair bent forward over a console, head tilted to the side as a bob of golden blonde nodded, the two speaking quietly to one another as they loaded presentation graphics onto the Conference Room console.

Kirk had a new appreciation for the Briefing Room briefing. While it didn't come with the adrenaline rush that briefing on the Bridge during a crisis had, it gave him a chance to see the entire Command Team together.

If he had a family, this was it.

“Captain,” Spock said, raising his head to acknowledge Kirk. He couldn't stop a smile at the thought that he'd bet anything it was exactly 1400 hours now. He settled into an empty chair at the table.

“Why don't we get started?” Kirk opened. He knew all he needed to do was give them a nudge.

Spock nodded at Uhura who began the briefing. Kirk smiled again at the reminder that his Command Team took turns running briefings and that turn-taking worked like a well-oiled machine.

“Certainly. First we'll check in on the new crew acquisitions and then we'll present the results of our investigation into former Captain Garth and the prisoner Khan Noonien Singh.”

Uhura punctuated her sentence with a tap on her tabletop controls, which brought up the chart with the prior positions of all new crew:

  1. Other starships:26.0%

  2. Frontier postings: 25.3%

  3. Waystations: 15.6%

  4. Planetary ground postings:2.9%

  5. Colonies:17.9%

  6. Outposts:12.3%




“While we were initially concerned about the closing of the last one-to-two-staffed waystations and outposts, our survey of Crew Deck team leaders about the new crewmembers is telling a different story. New personnel from the frontier postings, waystations, and outposts all seem to have a boost in morale--”

“--As I said they would, let the record show that!” Scotty interrupted with an aggression that Kirk knew was just part of the passion his Engineer brought out whenever he thought those from outer system postings needed defending. The Lieutenant just smirked and continued.

“---while there are some significant issues with the new crew transferring in from other starships.”

Kirk nodded and the throb at the base of his skull started to ache again. While Spock's recruitment strategy avoided poaching from other ships, Kirk's announcement had apparently inspired individual crewmembers who were unhappy with their current posting to request transfers. He'd fielded more than his share of aggressive calls from other Captains and he knew Spock was hearing from First Officers.

“There have been a handful of Security issues, some issues in Engineering and in the labs around protocol--”

“--You wounna believe the state of some of these other ships' Engine Rooms, Captain!” Scotty burst out again, shaking his head in what was almost certainly genuine outrage. “For heaven's sake these ships aren't toys! They're nuclear reactors with thrusters and if you...”

“--and Medical is reporting a large spike in the need for counseling and mental health services.” Lt. Uhura continued, looking from Mr. Scott to at McCoy, but before the Doctor could start Kirk turned to Spock.

“We have this data too, right?”

“Certainly, Captain.” With a couple of clicks his First Officer displayed several charts on the wall with a side panel giving the details of several Security incidents.

Kirk's eyes scrolled through them quickly, taking in an actual physical fight in the Mess Hall, several reports of sex in turbolifts, and a dramatic increase in Security requests to take down door and hull decorations.

“Their former Captains and First Officers seem to really want these crewmembers back. Are we trying to say that it was a mistake to take them on in the first place?”

The question was for everyone, but Kirk gave Commander Spock a pointed look. They'd had several conversations about the five Starships and two Starbases where the vast majority of ship transfer requests had come from.

Where they already so different from Enterprise that their staff couldn't serve at another Starfleet post?

“I can only imagine why...” Doctor McCoy spoke up for the first time and Kirk jerked back at the anger he could hear in the Doctor's voice, “...after the hell those people have been through. They can't possibly think Starfleet will continue to let them run things the way they are now!”

“What are we talking about specifically, Bones? What happened to them?” Kirk asked. At that, McCoy calmed down and sat up straighter, taking the professional tone of voice he used when delivering medical results that disgusted him.

“All of the new crewmembers have undergone the standard comprehensive physical required for people on boarding any vessel,” the Doctor began. He looked over at Spock, who turned a dial on the Conference Room console and brought up McCoy's visuals.

The screen was filled with bar graph comparison charts. The differences between those who served with the Enterprise for less than a week and everyone else was obvious.

“As you can see our new crew have much more experience with trauma. Now it is too soon for any of them to feel comfortable disclosing any of it, but the Sigmund tests are finding higher rates of PTSD, high anxiety, paranoia, elevated aggression... the list goes on.”

“Higher rates” was not quite how Kirk would have put it. The scores for these conditions in established crew were practically non-existent, whereas for the new crew it was nearly off the charts.

“That isn't the worst of it, Jim,” McCoy continued. “Part of the comprehensive physical is a record review of prior charts.” With barely a look between them Spock advanced the slide, which now had the same conditions contrasted with how many of the tested crew were already diagnosed.

It looked like the bar graph before it, only in reverse.

“The Sigmund is a standard test---part of the annual physical for all crew.” The Doctor's voice rose in volume and his words rushed forward, “But hardly any of these people had been diagnosed with these conditions before. We literally all use the same Sigmund programs, so the only way that could be is if they were just not done. And then there's this.”

The Doctor didn't even have to look at Spock this time. The bar graphs were replaced by screenshots of two patient charts.

“On the left---that's one of our medical charts with the patient identifying information removed. On the right, a chart from the Tompkins.”

They just sat in silence for a few moments, the Doctor looking ready to blow his top.

The Tompkins chart was a mess. It was incomplete, so many pieces of information missing that it had a note appended to it that made it clear that someone had logged in as a supervising officer and waived the application through the safeguards in the medical records system that would have normally prevented it from even being submitted in the first place. At the bottom of the form there was a stylus-written note.

“What does that say?” He asked. Spock zoomed in and the Captain read it out loud.

_Patient isn't sleeping, says he has nightmares from the firefight in the Molkar nebula. I advised him to work out more and suck it up._

Captain Kirk sat back in his seat, stunned. The air in the room seemed to seep out as he read and now it just felt thin.

“I've already submitted my report to Starfleet Command.”

The Doctor broke the silence and gave everyone permission to speak again. The room erupted.

“We've all reported the Tompkins or one of the others already. It isn't going to matter.”

“They destroyed a world and got away with it. They'll get away with this too.”

“Six worlds. The homeworld and five colonies.”

“...to have them holding that kind of technology is at this point criminal...”

Kirk just listened, looking over and getting Spock's attention. They often talked about the Tompkins and the ships and stations allied with them, usually over chess with two drinks already past Kirk's throat. And while he knew about Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus's encounter with the Beirut, he'd had no idea the others were so aware and upset. He got up and walked over to Commander Spock.

“Let them vent for a bit,” he said, leaning forward to speak quietly, “It'll help.” Spock nodded in response and they both turned to watch. When the fury around the table started to turn to exhaustion Captain Kirk moved back to his seat.

“Can the Medical Section handle the needs of our new crew, Doctor?”

That quieted the room back down and McCoy leaned forward over the table.

“Yes, but I'm going to need to reorganize some of our staff's duties to allocate more time for counseling and emotional healthcare. Dr. Chapel is tapping crewmembers and arranging for training now. We'll need to schedule some extra training with Security and there will be a few incidents coming up where they'll require it. I would be telling you that anyway---its the result of bringing in all these new people at once---but many of these folks need to do some significant healing and it is gonna show.”

“Understood, Doctor. Work with Mr. Spock to get whatever resources you need.” Kirk looked around, gauging everyone at the table before moving on to the second part of their meeting. “Unless anyone objects, let's move on to the results of our investigation into Khan and Garth. Are they connected?”

“Unlikely Captain,” Uhura answered. “Garth and Khan were at Tantalus together, but only for four days and three morning hours,” she shot a look at the Commander and Kirk wondered how many times Spock pushed Uhura for more precision before it became her reflex. “During that time Khan was in isolation and Garth in processing and holding, completely different parts of the facility.”

A map of Tantalus came up and sure enough they were on opposite sides of the ship, bisected by the Control Room.

As Uhura continued, Kirk pictured them in their cells using his memories of Tantalus.

“These sets of prisoners do not cross paths deliberately. Their movement throughout the facility is planned to avoid just that from happening.”

Kirk imagined Khan taking food in his cell, living in a small, windowless room alone with only his advanced hearing to remind him that other people even existed. And on the other side of the penal colony Garth was in a holding cell, ranting and raving about his proper place as a Captain and a Lord.

“For them to have communicated without the help of staff---which at this point was unlikely, as Dr. Adams had not yet begun to replace staff with brainwashed patients---it would have had to have been in the smallest of moments, carefully planned and executed.”

Khan, in the orange one-piece suit prisoners at Tantalus wore with his arms stretched behind his back and his hands shackled, was walked through the holding cells during colony night. All of the new prisoners were dozing but Garth, who saw him and started to throw a fit again. When guards converged on Garth's cell to subdue him and quiet him down Khan slipped a piece of torn fabric into a guard's pocket. During the struggle Garth took the cloth without anyone's notice.

“And while both men are capable, how would they have known about one enough to have even cared to go to all the effort?”

That brought Kirk back to reality just as Dr. Marcus added, “Further, it is much more likely they were just involved in similar situations. Khan and Garth share a pathology. They are both narcissists---Garth thinks he is the 'Lord of the Universe” and Khan a “superior Man”. They both have selective sociopathy in that they can fake all of their emotions and cause incredible suffering to others, but they also both have people in their lives they would not hurt.”

“But Garth turned on his crew, surely ya don't think---” Scotty began and Marcus held up her hand.

“But he made significant efforts to not hurt me, and my father and I were close friends of his. To him we were family.”

“What's happening with Khan's family?” Kirk said, changing the subject. Just one look at Dr. McCoy made it clear that they were moving into dangerous territory with Marcus, who'd lost her father not too long ago.

“The Sentient Rights attorneys have formed a coalition and are petitioning for the awakening of the other Augments,” Lt. Uhura reported. “Khan, in their minds, has been a model prisoner and they are claiming it unethical and unlawful to hold the rest of the Augments in a comatose state.

Kirk couldn't imagine anything worse than 76 supermen and women in a secure Federation facility.

* * *

 

“OH there is was again! Pull!”

Sabbas's voice echoed in his small ship. Sybok stopped what he was doing---which at this moment was grooming his brown facial hair—to take a long drag off a stickystick as Sabbas and Nekae did the same.

At his cockpit console the main viewer was divided in two, with Sabbas on one side and Nekae on the other. They were only speaking to one another, but he was accustomed to being ignored by them at this point.

As they continued their conversation and their smoking game Sybok finished shaping his chin coif and moved into the main cabin. As he took another drag he thought about his brother Spock. They had once been close and now, with circumstances changed as they were, he thought they might be again.

Sybok had been cast aside by his family. Spock had, in effect, cast his family aside, leaving Vulcan honor and duty behind for a career in Starfleet.

Even now Sybok was stunned by his brother's choice and their father's response to it. Had he known about it at the time Sybok would have bet anything that Sarek would have disowned his younger son for that decision. Instead, based on the recorded comm conversations Sybok had been able to dig up between them, Sarek and Spock had brokered a tentative peace with Amanda in the middle holding it together.

Now that their mother was gone that peace should have evaporated. But based on what Sybok had been able to find, this time in the form of communications logs and ship schedules, the two were talking on their own without the need of a human buffer.

Without Amanda between them it seemed father and son were closer than ever.

Sybok wondered if he could now make his own return and enjoy a relationship with at least his brother. As children they had been close and if Nekae's version of her encounters with Spock could be trusted Sybok was sure they could be close again.

Spock sounded like an adult version of the brilliant, honorable, reserved prankster he had once called brother.

“She is killing it, k'rie! Killing it! All she needed was the opportunity to step forward and shine.”

Nekae continued to rant in the background as Sybok reviewed what he had learned (and not learned) about how she was communicating with Spock.

  1. At this point he had tapped and was monitoring all her feeds. He listened in as Nekae commed with her k'rei and navigator Sabbas, her beacon D'ectyr, her machinist D'erryl, a seemingly endless supply of Nomad friends, and even on a handful of calls with her biological mother, the disciple Lagassa. He had yet to uncover how she was communicating with Spock.

  2. He took the opportunity afforded to him to hack his brother's ship when the Enterprise was docked at Yorktown taking on new crew. He found communications logs from the Enterprise to the Surak but none from Enterprise to Nekae's whale.

  3. In monitoring her feeds he learned that Nekae was speaking with his brother on a reasonably frequent basis---according to her conversations with Sabbas at least once every three days.




He knew he was close to discovering how they were in communication and the curiosity was enough to make his blood boil. He could hardly wait until he found it, the undoubtedly encrypted feed they were using to speak to one another with such frequency.

He would peel back their layers of security, which were obviously designed by Spock as no Nomad would need them, and compare each and every conversation to the crumbs Nekae was leaving him in her discussions with Sabbas.

Was Spock really growling in her defense? Was he treating her as a bondmate and allowing himself to be called such? Was he acting as her beacon?

Finally he couldn't keep himself quiet.

“If she is so regal, so smart, and so compassionate then why did it take a visit from you for her to see the suffering of her own people?”

As usual, Nekae and Sabbas ignored him and continued their back-and-forth on the merits of a friendship with Droxine of Ardana.

In truth he did not mind it. It wouldn't be long before everyone in _Mosu-Vohareyak Igen_ knew his name.

* * *

 “Greetings, my son.”

"Greetings, Father.”

Spock sat at his viewer with a bowl of roasted mashya and plomeek, picking at his dinner with chopsticks. His Father also had a bowl and chopsticks but when Spock realized what his father was eating he raised an eyebrow.

“Vegan Pad Thai?” he asked. The moment the words left his mouth he wanted to recall them, horrified that he would even ask such a droll, personal question of his father.

Sarek answered without hesitation.

“The amount of food we can requisition at the Embassy is already small. It had been rationed so that all Vulcans had to supplement with food from other worlds. As you know, most Vulcans almost exclusively eat Vulcan food.”

Spock did not sigh in relief. Instead he took the moment to thank his mother for raising him with the ability to engage in small talk. It often put being of other species at ease and, after over three decades with her even Sarek was not adverse to it.

“I made some calculations and discovered that by exclusively eating human food myself I could make a significant impact in the amount others had to change their eating habits. Others who were former embassy employees have increased their personal consumption of Terran and Deltan food as well, and now no one is required to change their eating habits.”

Spock nodded, the information new but not surprising. Vulcans were known to have a strong sense of community and whole families changing personal habits for their city or town was not unheard of in Vulcan's past. Then a thought occurred to him.

“How has T'Pau received your solution to this problem?”

Sarek flicked an eyebrow in response to the question. When he was with family he was much less expressive than he had to be in his role as Ambassador.

“When questioned I told her that this way more potential Vulcan couples at the embassy could share Vulcan meals together.”

It was meant as a joke. Instead of correcting him or acting as if the words were unnecessary, Spock chose to sit in silence as he would were his mother present.

Were Amanda here she would be laughing.

“As you know, I do not begrudge her,” Sarek continued after a few bites, “T'Pau has her duty, as we have ours. It is honorable that she pursue it with all due logic and zeal.”

Spock ate for a few moments in silence, reflecting on T'Pau's pursuit of her duty.

T'Pau was the Matriarch of Vulcan. This put her at the head of a pyramid of Matriarchs, for each family and community had one. These matriarchs governed over individuals during their Times, when someone had to be around to made the difficult decisions. They were also in charge of bondings, marriages, adoptions, and severances. At the community level they managed what on other worlds was called “Family Law”.

Her first job had been to put this network back together, taking a census to assess who was left and how many families were viable and then recruiting new matriarchs to reconstitute families.

At that time her work had included asking surviving members of clans to take in individuals who had been rendered clanless by the loss of their planet.

When the new clans had all been mapped and the census taken, she moved to refill the High Council. While this body of leaders was more complete than any other, there had still been some losses. She even argued that it was logical to add positions based on the new clan structure.

Both had been admirable accomplishments. Now she was working on her third task with the same diligence she had brought to the others: Pairing adults and encouraging reproduction.

Vulcan's population, even with all of the colonies and families who had repatriated, still fell below the 50/500 rule. Even if every compatible couple produced as many children as possible Vulcan would not again be a stable population after five generations.

It was T'Pau's job to make the “if” part of that conditional statement true and she was using logical, albeit unconventional means to accomplish her task. That included pressuring the two unbonded males in her clan to bond quickly and publicly as an example to others.

“Besides, you were not so opposed to her methods at first,” Sarek commented.

His father's statement was accurate. When T'Pau had begun this part of her work he was still with Nyota.

_Thinking about her first name is required if you are to socialize with her again. Nyota is her name, and is spoken by her family and friends._

And while this wasn't public knowledge on Terra or on the Fleet, it was on Vulcan. His father was the Ambassador to the Federation and ran the network of Vulcan embassies that criss-crossed known space. His aunt was the Matriarch of Vulcan.

Even logical, restrained, private people were interested in his choice of mate.

At the time T'Pau had approved. She was necessarily of the mind that some Vulcans would have to mate outside their species if only to survive the Time. Thus Spock's choice of a human mate might validate the choice other Vulcans made in taking mates of other species.

All of that changed with the termination of their relationship.

At first nothing had changed. They were reasonably isolated on the Enterprise and they worked together. Had one of both of them left the ship there would have been speculation but they stayed together, mature enough to coexist and work closely.

Now that Gaila had returned and the situation was different Spock hoped they could return to being friends.

But then a picture of him taken on Tesnia found its way to the nets. It was at the club where he and other officers had taken shore leave together. The position and body language between the two of them along with her facial expression in the shot made it clear they were no longer together. Soon tabloids picked it up and speculation began.

T'Pau's encouraging of his relationship had included finding reasons to work pictures and information about him---always conveniently pictured with Nyota in moments where his regard for her would be obvious to any Vulcan---into stories on Vulcan news and media stations. Eventually that was enough for Federation news outlets to understand that a relationship existed and that it was important somehow.

Public records revealed T'Lok's transfer to the Enterprise. T'Lok's background as a Healer who specialized in severances was easy enough to find.

Now media outlets had a story about the end of a relationship, and they ran with it as if it were equally as important.

They covered it as if he were a “Prince” in some Terran fairy tale, courting Ardanan Princesses and escorting Vulcanoid “Nomads” to state dinners.

As frustrating as it was to be in that spotlight, being in T'Pau's focus was worse. Being single was not a relationship state she approved of and she had made it clear on more than one occasion that to support her meant to act in a way that would encourage other Vulcans.

“At first I did not hear from her so often about how I could help her with them,” Spock replied drily.

When both father and son were at the bottom of their bowls they set them aside to work in earnest.

“I finished reading your speech and sent you some feedback. It is written in a way that I think the crowd will find _stirring_.” Sarek put emphasis on the adjective in a way that made it seem as though he was unfamiliar with that effect.

Spock had watched many of Sarek's Federation Council speeches in person. He knew the Ambassador was quite capable of making an audience stir.

“That was my intention.” Spock had enrolled the assistance of both Captain Kirk and Lt. Uhura on his speech at the Federation Conference's Opening Ceremonies. He intended to make a statement about the destruction of the Gorlans, making it clear that Starfleet officers and personnel were as appalled and horrified as the member worlds of the Federation were.

This was in direct opposition to a media campaign focused on Terran and Tellurite worlds which depicted Starfleet as unified in support of a more violent exploration of space. The assumption was made by one Admiral in particular that this violence was justified in response to a more dangerous galaxy. Admiral Westervliet echoed the sentiments of the late Admiral Marcus and, because the message had begun from the top it was still easy to make the case that Starfleet as a whole felt that way.

This logic lead some to begin to use “support for our officers” as a rallying cry to a brand of patriotism that stopped any critical conversation about the actions taken against the Gorlans.

It was a message that Spock found abhorrent in its dishonesty. His contradiction of it at The Federation Conference during the Opening Ceremonies, which many people on member worlds watched live on one of the established Federation news feeds, would be enough to call that logic into question.

“While the speech is sound, I have concerns about your ability to deliver it with the emotion necessary for many of the member species to accept.” Sarek made the statement and then sat in silence as Spock processed it.

_For the first time in his life his father was worried that his son would not be emotional enough._

“I have enlisted the support of the Enterprise Command Team. They are planning an action that they assure me will strike the proper emotional tenor during the speech. I am also running it with test audiences on board to refine my delivery.”

They continued to go through their plan to gain popular support for a second Starfleet Academy on Vulcan during the conference. At each opportunity the conference represented they would make the case for their proposal. At the Opening Ceremonies, at the session for Starfleet Command top brass, at the convening of the Vulcan High Council---something that had never before happened at a Federation Conference but was deemed logical this year as they were working with so many member worlds on emergency relief projects---at the Federation member session, and even at an open conference plenary.

As they neared the end of their allotted subspace time Sarek set his stylus down in a way Spock knew was predictive of a personal comment 98.173% of the time.

“Ambassador Selek has made arrangements for several representatives of the Oasis and the Nomads to attend the conference. Will you need credentials for Nekae?”

“Are you gathering information for T'Pau now? I can assure you she is capable of acquiring her own intelligence.”

“Indeed she is. But better her focus be on you than on me.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Nyota took another look at her options. Was it really only days since she'd touted these new regulations as one of the more enlightened things to come out of Starfleet Command in years? Now they were an annoyance, frustratingly unsuitable for her new needs.

Even so, they were a welcome distraction to the conversation Gaila wanted to have.

“Everything is now right with the world. The band's back together and it is going to sound harmonious!”

“I hate to break it to you, but he isn't fine,” Nyota started, only to be interrupted.

“Of course he is! He said so. And he smells fine.” The Orion punctuated her words with a decisive nod.

“That's just hard to believe.” She knew she was mumbling now, but was it too much to hope that her best friend/now lover would get the message her tone and body language were putting out to the universe?

Of course it was. She changed the subject.

“Am I _open to being approached by other shipmates for romantic or sexual advances_?” she asked, her voice changing as she quoted the Shipwide Profile questions.

“Do you want to be?” Gaila asked lightly, but something about her tone of voice pulled Nyota's attention away from her padd. She looked Gaila in the face, taking in every facial marker looking for extra clues as to what the Orion really meant.

“Well, no. I mean, not before, mainly because of Spock. I mean, he doesn't try to know things but he can hear everything and this ship is a beehive of gossip.”

“Ooohhh... love the imagery!”

Orions were visual thinkers, like Vulcans, and Nyota usually remembered that when speaking. With Spock it meant she avoided saying certain things. With Gaila it was more like a creative challenge.

“Stay on task!” Warming up to the conversation she snapped at her green sister playfully. “I'm asking you what our rules are. I know you're Orion, and I want to make sure I'm giving you what you---”

“Rules, shmules! I am not the one with rules,” Gaila declared with her hands on her hips. “Though, I am a benevolent Mistress,” she continued, every word slow as if she was saying them as she thought them, “and _I know you're human_ ,” she quoted Nyota, “so I will hear what rules you would like for us.”

She ended as if she were a royal monarch, nodding slowly as if to give Nyota permission to speak.

“That's not what I--” the human woman huffed, shaking her head and then letting it loll back dramatically before continuing, “---I was just saying that I know you probably have needs, at least sexual needs, that you'll want other people to fill and...”

Nyota's words slowed and then stopped as Gaila sat, crossed her legs, and leaned forward eagerly.

“No, go on!” Gaila encouraged Nyota with a widening grin. The human woman knew a trap when she saw one, and when it was clear that she wasn't going to continue to dig a hole the Orion continued.

“Go on and talk about how sexually needy I am, ignoring how you have to have all the friends, friends of every species and gender, all who get to know some of your secrets, and a second romantic partner---not that I was threatened by Vulcan, especially when it comes to romance because, well obviously!---all through school while I confessed my secrets to no one else, had no other close friends, and was definitely not romantically ensnared by anyone else. Sure, I had sex but we weren't even fucking then, Ny. Not at all!”

Nyota was taken aback, and took a moment to try to see things from her friend/lover/sister's point of view:

Gaila claimed Nyota as her best friend after almost a week as roommates. She let everyone know and, as far as Nyota knew, didn't have any other close friends. She had all manner of acquaintances---usually people she'd slept with, or done makeovers on, or tutored in computer science---but no one else was in the _paint your nails together and dish_ category.

She also didn't really date. She had a lot of sex, but she went about it like a conquering Amazon. There was nothing romantic about it.

And even though it was weird to think about, Nyota had to admit that there _was_ something romantic about their friendship. As roommates they did all kinds of intimate things around one another.

She thought about all the times she'd had a conversation with her roommate while she was changing clothes, not bothering to hide anything because why and her roommate was Orion, surely she didn't care...

And what about all the nights that they whispered across the bunks to one another in the dark, all those _hey I know you aren't sleepings_ and _are you awakes_...

God, they'd shared nearly everything. Straws, food, accessories, socks, underwear...

Nyota put a full stop on those thoughts.

“Are you saying you've been monogamously my friend and girlfriend this whole time? That the only way you haven't been monogamous was through sex?”

“---and that you've been a total emotional floozy and I have been completely chill with it? Yes.”

The Orion's hand and neck whipped with her words but Nyota felt disconnected from the moment. She was shocked that she had misunderstood this fundamental part of her relationship with her best friend.

If she hadn't found Gaila she would never have known.

“But I thought Orions abhorred monogamy?”

“No Ny! Goddess, I've been such a bad teacher to you! Orions don't hate any one way of being sexual with others. We love being sexual with others, in every and all ways! But as an Orion woman, it is in my nature to want to win, even in sex. Especially in sex.”

Gaila was up and across the room in moments, dancing sensuously across the space and to Nyota's side.

“And trust me when I say, sexual monogomy with you, Lt. Nyota Uhura, is definitely winning.”

Nyota let herself get drawn into her Orion's arms for a few minutes, distracted. She was brought back to reality with a snap as Gaila pulled away with a jerk as if she'd just remembered something important.

“Spock!”

That was not a name Nyota was in the mood to hear. She pulled back.

“What?”

“You were totally right, Ny. Spock will care if he sees others are trying to get with you. You should say 'no' to that question.”

At this declaration Gaila puffed her chest out, proud of herself.

“What?” Nyota was confused, and then remembered the padd that had fallen loosely out of her hand and onto her bunk.

“For everything to be harmonious it has to be you, me, and Spock. If you start acting like an Orion after living for years like a Vulcan it will upset him,” Gaila explained with an air of patience.

“Whoa whoa whoa hold up!” Nyota's hand was out, because she knew her friend would just plow right past her verbally and she needed to make this clear. “You know Spock is never going to be in a relationship with both of us, right? He can't bond with me, has never even once hinted that he might be attracted to you---and he might be the only person at the Academy who didn't in one form or another---and he wouldn't because **_Vulcans don't share_**.”

Gaila sighed loudly and tossed her hair. “I know all that! But he's still ours. Even if we have to share him with this new person, he is ours too. Besides,” she looked pointedly at Nyota as she said her next words, “I'm used to having to share my cherished one with a Vulcan.”

The two women just stared at one another for a few long moments.

“So, just to be clear,” Nyota began again, speaking slowly, “your ideal situation is Spock and I are your best friends, one...” Gaila was shaking her head, “...or both of us are your romantic partners and... I'm still not clear on who you are having sex with in this scenario...?”

“Ugh! And I am the one who is supposedly obsessed with sex. Whoever! You, obviously. Spock if I could get away with it but I've resigned myself to the fact that it will never happen. Though Ny, his legs! I was on his lap and his thighs were as tight as---Off topic? Yes, I'm off topic. As I was saying, you, not him, but only because of him. Others if you were fine with it, but I wouldn't want to hurt your delicate human morals. Maybe others together?”

During her monologue she had spread out on the bunk and by the end she was propped up on one arm, her head cocked and her face curious.

“Maybe. But not on the ship. Seriously, people are really immature about sex and relationships here.”

They continued to talk until Gaila forcibly turned their attentions elsewhere. Later, while Nyota lay dozing, Gaila finished her profile for her.

_Are you open to being approached by fellow shipmates for romantic or sexual advances? Yes or No_

_No_

_Declare a relationship with a fellow crewman._

_In a relationship with Engineer Gaila Vro_

The Orion smiled in the dark, overwhelmed by how it felt to finally be home.

* * *

 

Spock stood under a magnolia tree in the Arboretum. He heard Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus enter the gardens, both speaking quietly but not nearly enough to keep him from hearing every word. He let his mind turn from them to take focus on the tree, shifting his attention to honor their privacy. 

“Commander.”

They stood behind him at attention, but just a nod from him was enough to put them at ease.

“You wanted to speak to me about the proposal I am presenting at the Federation Conference?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He turned his back on the tree then, facing them and giving them his obvious and undivided attention.

“First, let us say that we fully support the building of a new Starfleet Academy on Vulcan. Truly, an elegant solution to a complex set of interrelated problems.” Dr. Marcus's words were crisp and calm, but Spock could hear her heartbeat speed up as she began.

“Thank you, Doctor. Lieutenant.”

Lt. Uhura took a breath before speaking and Spock's attention moved to her.

During his next meditation cycle he planned to review this interaction and his own physiological responses. He would use that data to make a behavioral plan for himself that should allow him to reintegrate into his friendship with her and Engineer Vro now that the individual relationships themselves had changed.

“Commander, Dr. Marcus and I have been working with a small group of staff in our off hours to identify missing Starfleet officers. We have worked in collaboration with similar teams on other ships and, including the recently recovered Engineer Vro we have rescued 124 members of Starfleet.”

Spock nodded and Lt. Uhura moved into a position that was slightly more like _attention_ than it was like _at ease_.

Engineer Vro had been correct to remind him of Lt. Uhura's many displays of cultural flexibility over the years---and of her possible limits. Nyota Uhura had conformed to both Orion and Vulcan culture on many occasions. Spock knew enough about constantly conforming to an alien culture to have some understanding of her position.

He resolved to do whatever was necessary to help her transition back into their new friendship as well.

“We thank you now for your support for our project in the past. We know you have spoken up for it when we needed ship's resources.”

Dr. Marcus's words surprised him. Truly their team needed almost nothing, but the communication with other teams on other ships had required Communications resources. And Lt. Uhura was a consummate professional, bringing the requests to him instead of approving them herself.

“Your work on this project was commendable, and the small resources involved were a more than reasonable request. Acting logically is its own reward.”

“We now have a proposal that we hope fits logically in the vision for a second Academy,” Uhura continued, stopping only to breathe in as the ship's vents simulated a breeze, drawing the sweet smell of Magnolia flowers over them.

“This project suffers from a lack of central command. Different teams work on different ships. We were tracking escape pods, while another ship drew up the legal paperwork. Right now Gaila is working with a team on the Beirut to get her credentials reintegrated and arrange for all the training and medical requirements she'll have to work through to get her commission back.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, realizing he had not actually thought through the logistics that would be required for Gaila to actually become Engineer Vro again. He made a mental note to offer her his assistance. At this point in his career he was extremely proficient in moving through Starfleet bureaucratic channels.

“If they haven't already, the team will message Enterprise from the Beirut to request that we continue to allow her board on our ship for the duration of the process.”

Spock nodded, his mind racing ahead of them as he followed the steps the personnel on the Beirut would need to take to successfully restore Gaila's Starfleet rank and commission.

“The fact that we are all on different ships, without some central point of command for the project, is leading to a lot of unnecessary work, especially around reintegrating lost personnel. However--”

Lt. Uhura had stopped talking, recognizing that Spock was already ahead of her.

“--were this project run from the new Academy, lost personnel could regain their commissions faster and receive updated training and needed medical care all in one central location,” the Commander finished her thought and both women nodded.

“Yes.”

“Exactly.”

Something was wrong, and it took Spock longer to think through what it was than he was sure it would have taken Captain Kirk.

Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus were proposing a plan that would honor the sacrifice Starfleet personnel had made by allocating resources to their rescue. It would cut out the use of additional resources by organizing the work more efficiently. It even had the benefit of giving Vulcans more options for employment at the Academy as specialists on this project, which would allow more Vulcans a stable living situation for potential new families.

The logic of their proposal was sound, but both women were exhibiting the physiological symptoms of moderate stress.

“I find your proposal to add this project to the list of duties for a new Starfleet Academy to be sound. More than sound, it is impressive, and your initiative is in keeping with the highest values of Starfleet and the Federation.”

Both women seemed surprised, Lt. Uhura ducking her head and Dr. Marcus looking at him with wide eyes.

“I know you are holding an event for rescued officers at the Conference. If you wish to speak of this project as a part of the Academy proposal, I can add information about it to the workshops I where will be presenting.”

“That's an acceptable request, Commander.”

“Extremely acceptable. Thank you Commander.”

As he turned back to the tree and listened to the two officers walk away, Spock wondered if it was too soon to ask his friend Nyota Uhura how well he had interpreted and handled this situation.

* * *

 

Captain Kirk stared at the screens around him, refusing to admit that he was completely lost. 

The middle screens were filled with missile plans, where a large missile casing was being used to contain some sort of biological element alongside a rectangular computer server.

On his left the screen was filled with what looked like an agricultural experiment, where the computer had taken the experiment's parameters and was running hypothetical simulations of the experiment, cataloging each possible outcome.

On his right the screen was running through what looked like the life cycle of the planet. The planet would start as an empty dead world and then would grow microorganisms, which flourished into life, which then spread out all over the planet, creating a range of climates. Then the world would start to die, decay, and then the cycle would end in a dead, lifeless planet again.

“Come to check up on your experiment, Captain?”

Dr. Marcus spoke from behind him, where she had been working at a console as he entered the room.

“My experiment? If this is my work I'm in trouble because I'm not sure I understand how it all goes together,” he said with a smile.

“I meant the Communications study you had me design. For your information, Lt. Uhura is working with Dr. McCoy to include it in his survey questions during annual physicals.”

“Oh, well then I'll never forgive myself.”

“Pardon?”

“For making those physicals any longer.”

As she laughed Kirk swallowed, deciding to take her opening and just ask.

“How is... Dr. Chapel?” When she didn't answer right away he went on, nervous energy translating into more explanation, “I haven't been avoiding her but I also haven't bothered her. You said that was the way to go...”

“It is.” Marcus said firmly as she handed him a padd. On it was a thorough breakdown of what must have been the project on the screens, currently draft named “Genesis.”

“She's doing well. McCoy has her running day-to-day operations while he does the big project scheduling and sets up the care plans for our new crew.”

“Good, that's...” he looked down and was inadvertently pulled in by the schematics for a moment, “...that's good. Wait, what is this?”

“It's called terraforming, Captain. You know how planets are altered, usually alongside some artificial atmospheric layers to create permanently manicured climates.”

“I do, I just don't understand what you're doing here. When people terraform, aren't they usually going for beaches and palm trees? This looks like you are trying to create deserts and volcanoes.”

“Some people like deserts and volcanoes, Captain.”

The console whistled and she tapped it with her stylus.

“Geology Lab 2, Marcus speaking.”

“Is Captain Kirk in the lab with you, Doctor?” It was Lt. Uhura and when the Doctor put her on the large front viewer it was clear she was calling from the Bridge.

“I'm here, Lieutenant.”

“Ambassador Selek is on the line for you, Sir.”

Kirk looked around behind her and saw Spock from behind. His First Officer was standing at the Conn facing the forward viewer.

“Put it on my screen and yours.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His screen filled with Selek's face and the background looked like a small Vulcan shuttle.

“Captain. It is pleasant to see you.”

“It is good to see you too Ambassador. Has... something happened?”

“Yes, Captain. I brought your petition to explore the Time Planet to the Ambassador of the Oasis and it has been approved. You may travel there at your convenience and they have placed no restrictions on your exploration. You are permitted scans, a landing party, and any scientific samples you should wish to collect.”

Kirk exhaled as soon as it was clear the call wasn't going to be about this alternate universe business. Actually, getting a chance to explore the “Time Planet” made his heart jump a beat.

The Time Planet was a planet deep in Nomad territory. It was the source of the waves of time displacement that created the Seas of the Oasis, which were home to space whales and other space-evolved species. It was also a point of interest for the Organians, a race of beings so advanced that they had no need for corporeal bodies and could take control of both the Federation and the Klingon Empire with a thought.

The Nomads themselves were drawn to it, and it was now central to their people's history and culture. All Nomads made journeys there during their lives, first to get a destiny and then several times after that for reasons still unknown.

Exploring a place like this was what the Enterprise was designed to do. This is what the crew had signed on to do. Each exploratory mission he led was followed by a boost in crew morale.

“Any hints about what I'll find there?” He asked as open a question as possible so that the Ambassador could tell him whatever he wanted to tell him.

“Only time will tell.”


	22. The City on the Edge of Forever, Part 1

**Chapter 22: The City on the Edge of Forever, Part 1**

The Bridge shook as the ship rode another shock wave.

“Stay on top of it, Mister Sulu,” Captain Kirk said as he moved around the Bridge. He was filled with a mix of jittery excitement and the concern he felt anytime something was difficult for his ship.

“Yes, Captain....” Sulu said, attention obviously elsewhere, his upper body moving right and left slightly as he input directions into the Navigation systems. Beside him, Chekov was furiously calculating variables and sending him moment-by-moment figures.

“Why can't we avoid these waves again, Spock?” Kirk raised his voice as another wave shook the Bridge.

“Because we cannot secure and achieve a stable orbit, Captain,” Spock replied even as he was still bent over the Science consoles.

“And why can't we get into orbit again?” This time Kirk was just reviewing the facts. At first Spock seemed annoyed by these sorts of questions but his Vulcan First Officer had quickly gotten used to them.

“Because hundreds of Nomad ships and whales are in orbit, and the space around orbit is filled with people.”

The screen changed to reflect their scans of the planet. The orbit was as full as any major Federation world's would be, but with a mix of ships and large, space-dwelling creatures. Outside the planet's orbit people were spread out, congregating as if they were on some sort of beach or just a few feet deep in an ocean's waves. Individuals were floating in space in suits, some within force fields attached to small ships, others inside nets that seemed to have been made for this purpose.

Kirk spotted a small whale, one that was almost small enough to look like a child compared with the adult whales he had come into contact with up to this point. A whole group of children were swimming around it, their small bodies cutting arcs through space like it was a giant pool on a summer day. 

The Nomads were swimming in space. Relaxing. Socializing.

McCoy was suddenly at his elbow. Kirk very nearly slammed into the Doctor before catching himself on one side of his chair.

“Bones! What brings you to the Bridge?”

McCoy looked up suddenly, his head jerking forward. In his hands he was carefully calibrating a hypospray filled with a dark red liquid.

“Jesus Jim, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Only if you were about to sneak up on me with that hypo,” the Captain shot back just as the Bridge shook again. The Doctor quickly pocketed the hypospray and moved in close.

“This is just in case,” McCoy said, looking around the Bridge and settling on Ensign Tamura.

“That's tricky stuff, isn't it Doctor? Cordrazine?”

“You're not a Doctor. You're a Starship Captain,” McCoy groused, but then continued, “Ensign Tamura came to us from the recommissioned Farragut. During our standard intake physical she let us know that she has a heart condition that has a history of exacerbating during stressful situations.

“Wait, should she be on the Bridge then?” McCoy shook his head.

“The problem is that her heart condition, which is congenital and was on her chart from the Academy, somehow “fell off” her chart while she was on the Farragut. Getting it back on is taking some doing and until her chart changes I can't order a change in her posting schedule.”

Kirk nodded as he followed along.

“...and so you're standing by.”

“Exactly.”

Everyone pitched forward as a shock wave of unexpected intensity hit the ship. Kirk's hands came out in front of him instinctively and caught him as he hit the navigation console.

“ _KILLERS! ASSASSINS!_ ”

The roaring voice was so unlike Dr. McCoy's normal bark that it took Jim a minute to realize who it came from. Spinning around, Kirk found himself face-to-face with a man who seemed twice his friend's size.

In truth, Jim Kirk knew exactly how large a man his best friend was. He often ribbed Bones for his hulking body, the over 6 foot tall Georgia boy with mild manners and a restrained grouse. A giant hiding in plain sight, as McCoy lived bent forward as he sprinted down corridors at a medical emergency, on one knee at a patient's bedside, or hunched over a surgery table.

Now he was standing tall, arms out in a terrific span, eyes wide and wild. On the deck beside him was a hypospray, now clear of the red medicine.

“Medical to the Bridge!” Uhura ordered over the Comm, which attracted the Doctor's attention.

“ _I WON'T LET YOU GET ME! I WON'T LET YOU!_ ” McCoy advanced on the Communications Officer only to reel back as Spock stepped between them. In a move Kirk would never have believed his friend could do, McCoy twisted away from two Security officers and right into the turbolift as Medical staff poured out of it onto the Bridge. 

Kirk fought past them just in time to hit the closed lift doors with his fists.

* * *

 

“Oh ye of little faith!”

Scotty's Scottish burr rolled down the corridor through the open Transporter Room doors. The ship was still shaking every few minutes, and he and Keenser had climbed out from under the Transporter console where they'd been working.

“I can tell when you're humoring me ya know!” Scotty continued, “But I'm right on this one. There is nothing stopping us from beaming an away team down to that planet! The waves woulna even get inna way attall...”

The two weren't prepared for an enraged, mindless Doctor running at them for all the world like it was a football game and Scotty was a quarterback. The ship lurched again and he hit them both, all three beings skidding on the deck and then sliding into the bulkhead.

Scotty heard the tell-tale whine of the Transporter and looked up just in time to see McCoy's body dematerialize.

“Scott to the Bridge.”

“Scotty I've been ordered to keep the channels clear,” Uhura replied quickly, “Dr. McCoy--”

“--was here! He was here and he was outta his mind!” Scotty shouted back. There was a commotion in the background, small noises barley coming through the Transporter console's speakers.

“The Captain is on his way to the Transporter Room,” Palmers said, taking Uhura's place on the monitor as he watched the Captain, Mr. Spock, and Lt. Uhura pile into the turbolift. Then Palmers' voice echoed on the shipwide comm. 

“Specialist McGivers, report to the Transporter Room. McGivers to the Transporter Room.”

* * *

 

“Captain's log, supplemental entry. Two drops of cordrazine can save a man's life. A hundred times that amount has just accidentally been pumped into Doctor McCoy's body. In a strange, wild frenzy he fled the bridge and has now beamed himself down to the planet. We have no way of knowing if this madness is permanent or temporary, or in what direction it will drive McCoy.”

The Captain was giving his log report on a communicator as she strode in, still walking awkwardly in the uniform boots she hardly ever wore. She looked up and stopped abruptly.

This was the largest landing party she'd ever seen. The Captain, Commander Spock, Engineer Scott, Lt. Uhura, Specialist Cyani, two other Security personnel, and now her. She stepped up to the Specialist.

“What is all this about? I thought we were exploring a new planet?”

Cyani looked over at her, nodding their head to the other Security guards who stepped back to give the Historian room.

“It is. And Dr. McCoy accidentally hyposprayed himself and then beamed himself down early.”

“I'm just saying. New worlds aren't my thing. I shouldn't be here.”

“You probably just came up for your turn on the away team list. That's how it works, you know.”

“But if my skills aren't needed---”

Marla jumped as Mr. Spock rose from behind the Transporter console. She hadn't noticed him go back there at all. He spoke over her head at the Captain, seeming not to notice her distress. Cyani grabbed her arm to steady her.

“At the time Dr. McCoy beamed down, the transporter was focused on the center of the time disturbance.”

Kirk turned to Scotty.

“Did he even make it down? The Nomad Nekae told us it was impossible to land on...”

“Aye, maybe that's so, but nothin' is stopping the Transporter. He's fine.”

McGivers had only interacted with the Engineer on one other time---her beam down to Tantalus colony. This time he seemed more serious, almost stern.

“Then set us up to join him,” Kirk said to Mr. Spock before turning to address the rest of the away team, “We have two priorities: Restrain McCoy and return him safely to the ship. Any and all exploration will wait until our Chief Medical Officer is safe. Is that understood?”

The _aye aye_ s chorused as they climbed onto the platform and took their positions.

She closed her eyes as they beamed down.

Shivering she opened her eyes as her arms rose and crossed over her chest. It was dark, planet night, but a pulsing light came from just ahead of the landing party.

A few dozen yards away stood a towering circular arch monument. It almost reminded her of what a cell looked like under a microscope, only blown up a hundred times that size with a giant donut-hole in the center.

It was large enough that the entire landing party could walk as a group through the hole.

“These ruins extend to the horizon,” the Captain said, “and McCoy could be anywhere. Fan out,” he ordered, directing his words to Lt. Uhura, “and report back periodically on your progress.”

The Lieutenant detailed Mr. Scott, Cyani, and the other Security officers with her and began searching. She went in one direction with Cyani and a Security officer and Mr. Scott went off in another direction with the second Security officer.

McGivers found herself standing alone, the Captain and First Officer ahead of her speaking quietly to one another as Uhura, Scott, and the Security team searched the ruins.

“What is this thing? Analysis, please,” Kirk said quietly.

“I thought we were searching for Dr. McCoy first?” Spock questioned.

“I'm just wondering if knowing more about this monument could help us find him. It is ancient---”

“---on the order of ten thousand centuries old,” Spock added.

“---and who knows what it does? What is it? Could it have spirited him away or killed him?”

“A QUESTION.”

The monument flashed, the colors lighting up and twinkling all over it in a way that showered colored light over the three of them. McGivers stayed back behind the senior officers.

“SINCE BEFORE YOUR SUN BURNED HOT IN SPACE AND BEFORE YOUR RACE WAS BORN, I HAVE AWAITED A QUESTION.”

Kirk stepped up and spoke back to it.

“Are you... machine... or being?”

Spock spoke, answering the question while looking back and forth from his tricorder, now out and taking readings, to the monument.

“This can't be a machine as we understand mechanics. It is putting out incredible power, but without a recognizable mechanism for generating said power. For this to do what it does is impossible by any science I understand.”

“I AM BOTH. AND NEITHER.”

“I see no reason for answers to be couched in riddles,” Spock said, speaking directly to the monument this time.

“I ANSWER AS SIMPLE AS YOUR LEVEL OF UNDERSTANDING MAKES POSSIBLE.”

“Annoyed, Spock?” Kirk murmured, leaning towards his First Officer as he responded.

It was only then, as she heard a back-and-forth that was obviously meant just for the Commander, that she realized she'd walked forward towards the monument as well. She looked around, for a second disoriented, and saw Lt. Uhura and Specialist Cyani climbing out of a cave to their right, behind the monument.

“Landing Party to Enterprise. No sign of Doctor McCoy. Search progressing,” she said into her communicator.

“YOUR KIND CALL ME THE GUARDIAN OF FOREVER.”

“When you say his kind, do you mean the Nomads?” Kirk asked as Spock continued to take tricorder readings from the monument.

“ _KILLERS! KILLERS! I WON'T LET YOU GET ME! I'LL KILL YOU FIRST!_ ”

She jumped, shrieking as the Doctor shot past her and ran for the monument's arch. The Captain turned and charged him and then they were on the ground, the Doctor struggling and fighting as if his life depended on it.

“Rise, Specialist. Are you hurt?”

McGivers grabbed Spock's offered arm and let him pull her up, shaking her head. He then calmly walked over to where the two men were wrestling on the ground, both covered in dust from the rocks they were grinding down with each twist and pull.

Commander Spock bent down and then the Doctor stopped moving.

“That's one hell of a trick, Spock,” Captain Kirk said, rising, “Help me move him over to that boulder.”

“I AM THE GUARDIAN OF FOREVER.”

She watched the two officers pull the Doctor up by his arms and move him over to a boulder. They sat him down and he slumped backwards awkwardly, still unconscious.

“I see you found him before we did,” Lt. Uhura said as she and the Security team walked past the monument, giving it a wide berth. Behind her Mr. Scott and the last Security officer approached them.

“Just get him safely back to the ship, Lieutenant,” Kirk said before turning back to the giant, colorful arch.

“The Nomads are the people above you. They call this the Time Planet.”

“Perhaps,” the Commander began more slowly, as if he were actively developing his hypothesis as he spoke, “perhaps this is a time portal. Certainly the amount of energy necessary to impact time in any way would be enough to generate the waves of displacement the Enterprise is experiencing. The architecture of the thing suggests it is a gateway to other times and dimensions.”

Marla watched the Vulcan's unfocused eyes as he spoke, a hint at the powerful mind that was working through clues to a new puzzle.

 _No wonder so many beings on this ship swoon over him_ , she mused silently.

“AS CORRECT AS IS POSSIBLE FOR YOU. YOUR SCIENCE IS OBVIOUSLY PRIMITIVE.”

She laughed and then coughed to try and cover it. The Guardian was sure sassy for an ancient ruin.

“Really?” Spock said, sounding almost indignant.

Behind them she could hear Uhura arranging for a beam up. She longed to go back up with them. Dusty, dark planets and strange towering ruins weren't her thing.

“Uhura and Away Team to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise here. Go ahead.”

“BEHOLD! A GATEWAY TO YOUR OWN PAST IF YOU WISH.”

She twisted back around as the hole in the arched monument got hazy and then turned into something like a screen. She stepped forward again, identifying events as they were marked by the visuals displayed.

“The Huns of Ordos, China, Earth,” McGivers began to narrate, shocked that she was actually of use on this mission. “Ramses the Third fighting an early battle against an unidentified naval power, Egypt, Earth.”

“Prepare the Transporter room,” Uhura continued behind them, “Emergency medical team. Doctor McCoy has been recovered. Three for beam up.”

“Hold as the Emergency medical team is assembled.”

Inside the Guardian, the history of Earth continued. As it became clear the Guardian had focused on Earth she started counting the date using the Terran Planetary Calendar.

“The Court of Cleopatra welcomes the Roman Julius Caesar, Egypt, 51 BCE. Jerusalem is captured in the first Crusades, Israel/Palestine, 1099 CE. The Shaanxi earthquake devastates China, 1556 CE.”

Behind her the Captain spoke in a low voice to Mr. Spock.

“If this is a doorway back through time, what if we...”

“...relive the accident? This time be certain that the hypo accident is avoided? I think not. Listen to the speed with which the centuries are passing.”

“The Titanic sinks, North Atlantic Ocean, 1912.”

“Guardian, can you change the speed with which yesterday passes?”

“The Medical team is assembled. Prepare for beam up.”

“I WAS MADE TO OFFER THE PAST IN THIS MANNER. I CANNOT CHANGE.”

“Doctor! Stop him!” Uhura cried as Doctor McCoy, who must have woken up while everyone was occupied, jumped in front of her and into the Guardian.

It was just as Khan Noonien Sing was giving a speech.

Then the images stopped. The Guardian was once again just an arch. The past and the Doctor were both gone.

Behind her she heard static.

“Hello? Enterprise, come in. Enterprise!” Uhura worked the dials on her communicator trying to get the signal back. The Commander approached her and she took the tricorder where it was handing from the strap across his chest. Not bothering to disconnect it from him, she scanned the communicator and then, handing him his tricorder, she pried open the comm's plastic casing with a practiced ease and looked at the inner workings. Mr. Scott approach and leaned over her shoulder to look. He then turned to look at the tricorder the Commander was holding.

“Kirk to Enterprise. Come in Enterprise.”

He was met with the same static. McGivers shivered, a chill running down her neck and back.

“There is nothing wrong with this communicator, Sir,” Uhura added with some heat, “Nothing! And I was just talking to them. We were almost---”

“YOUR VESSEL. YOUR BEGINNING. ALL THAT YOU KNEW IS GONE.”

“I am a fool.”

Mr. Spock's words shocked her out of the fear that the Guardian's pronouncement had caused. The fact that McCoy was back in a part of Earth's history she knew only too well was terrifying. That idea he had changed history was almost unfathomable to her.

“My tricorder is capable of recording even at this speed. I could have been taping when McCoy jumped.”

“I know when,” she said, the words coming out before she could stop them. “I was watching. I can tell you when.”

“Your assessment, however informed, would hardly be as accurate as the tricorder,” Spock began, but the Captain stepped in.

“Enough.” then he looked up, and she followed his gaze and looked up herself.

Above her the sky and stars looked the same as they had before. She was a Historian, not an Astronomer, and she didn't think she would have been able to see even a glimmer of light that was the ship in orbit. But now it wasn't.

“You mean we're stranded down here?” Scott asked the question that weighed on her mind. Spock answered him.

“With no past. No future.”

“Captain, I'm frightened,” Uhura added, saying what Marla was sure was on everyone's mind. Something about her words seemed to kick the Captain back into gear.

“We can fix this,” he said, nodding his head. He walked towards Mr. Spock, “We may not have a tricorder,” then he passed her, “but we do have a Historian's watchful recollections.” Then he stopped and turned to the Guardian.

“If I asked, could you play the time back again?”

“I WAS MADE TO OFFER THE PAST IN THIS MANNER.”

“I'm going to take that as a yes,” Kirk said, moving towards Mr. Scott, “Scotty, I'm turning command over to you. Myself, Mr. Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, and Specialist McGivers are going to make a jump through to try and recover McCoy and undo the damage to the timeline.” He turned back to the Guardian.

“Guardian, if we are successful...?”

“THEN YOU WILL BE RETURNED. IT WILL BE AS THOUGH NONE OF YOU HAD GONE.”

“Please replay Earth history for us.”

As the Guardian started to show human history on Earth once more Mr. Spock came up beside her with his tricorder out.

“We'll need to be quick. Let us know when to jump, Specialist.”

She hated this. It was too much. After last time they shouldn't trust her. And that was Atahualpa meeting Francisco Pizarro.

“Almost ready,” she said, her mouth on some sort of auto-pilot while her mind was freaking out.

Then she saw Barack Obama, the Earth United States' first African American President.

“JUMP!”


	23. The City on the Edge of Forever, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Apocalypse Earth is a bad place. Warning for suggestions of sexual violence actual graphic violence.

The cordrazine wasn't the problem.

The mismatch was the problem.

Cordrazine, truth be told, was something of a miracle drug. One or two drops was enough to restart a man's heart. A reprieve from death.

And though Leonard McCoy was sure he'd had more than a few drops---by the condition of his body, much more---he still found himself thinking that the cordrazine wasn't the problem.

The problem wasn't even what the cordrazine did at that high a dose--- _paranoia, a surge of adrenaline, a racing heart, a fight or flight response..._ his mind supplied.

The problem was the simple fact that, while the cordrazine made him feel like he was in a life-or-death situation, a hellscape where anyone and everyone was out to get him, the reality couldn't have been further from the truth.

He'd been on the Bridge. On the Enterprise. Surrounded by friends who wanted him nothing but well.

At some point all that had changed.

Now he was in the back seat of a car. The car was parked on a road surrounded by woods.

His nose was telling him that he was in Tennessee, on Earth. But that couldn't be right.

He remembered a mission: explore the Time Planet. And he remembered thinking that he had to get off the ship and away from everyone trying to hurt him.

He just hoped Scotty would be able to track him wherever the hell he'd taken himself.

He took another drink from a jug of water. He'd found a few jugs along with a collection of cans of food in the trunk of the car. The back seat folded back so he hadn't had to leave the car to get at the supplies.

That was good, because he wasn't sure if he could leave the car.

_Did they call them cars?_ he thought to himself. Cars, automobiles, lifts, transports, ubers... his mind rattled off any and every transportation-related word he could think of, the list going on until it goofily trailed off.

Later, though how much he couldn't tell you, he started thinking again. This time he decided to think about something useful, like what he knew about where he was.

He was in a car, in some woods that smelled like the Tennessee River Valley, on a world where a major catastrophe had taken place.

An apocalypse, one might say.

There were cars dotting the road, all abandoned. He had hazy memories of fighting people, all specters and skeletons that groaned and lunged for him.

If his memories were to be trusted then the overdose of cordrazine might have saved his life. It would have kept him fighting, running, and awake for hours or even days.

As it wore off he must have stumbled onto this road and found an open car. The tight space felt a lot safer to him than the open woods and that must have helped him to finally fall asleep.

Now he had all the symptoms of cordrazine withdrawl (migraine headache, sensitivity to light and sound, slowed reaction times, grogginess), muscles that were screaming and arms that were covered in scratches, and a barely-sated hunger and thirst.

When he'd first woken up in the car he'd been in the front seat. He'd dozed off a few times before getting hungry and thirsty enough to climb over the seat. Both had gotten worse as he dug into the supplies but he knew he had to pace himself. Now there were two jugs of water left and six cans. Most of them didn't have labels but one in the corner of the trunk did.

He hadn't felt like reaching for it yet.

His memories of fighting were triggered when someone woke him by banging on the windows of the car. At first he was groggy and sloppy but after a few moments his vision cleared from sleep and he could see what was trying to get in.

It looked like an animated corpse.

Were his memories to be trusted there were others. Were his senses to be trusted he was on Earth, in Tennessee.

He wasn't ready to entertain the idea that he'd gone back in time. Back into the history of his own planet.

He knew such technology existed. On Sarpeidon the people had used similar tech to go back in their own planet's history just before the planet itself was destroyed by a supernova.

He decided to prescribe himself another nap. He'd figure out what was going on later.

* * *

 

Spock distracted himself from the cold bite of Earth's past by allowing a logical chain he would normally only indulge in meditation.

Mentally he had named this logical problem _Selek's Reality and the Mirror_.

After Selek's call to the Enterprise on their way to Ardana, Spock pushed his older peer to speak with him at more length about his concerns. He suspected that his older self saw an opportunity to put an additional mind to work on the problem and agreed for expediency's sake alone.

They spoke over subspace regularly and the information gathered by Selek now affected how Spock saw his own past, the catastrophe that destroyed his home planet, and the intersection of his universe with the universe of his elder peer.

While most people who knew enough about Nero (and the truly cosmic consequences of his actions) assumed that the point of divergence was the attack on the Kelvin, there was evidence suggesting a much more substantial divergence had actually taken place.

Spock would have had no reason to notice any of this “evidence”, save that Captain Kirk and Selek joined in a meld deep and substantial enough for Kirk to have walked away with a sense of Selek's own personal reality.

It was this that would sometimes throw the Captain off during a mission, when some detail in the present didn't match the way events had unfolded in Selek's (then Spock's) own life.

And at first it was concern over his Captain's occasional episodes that pushed Spock to communicate with Selek and present this offer. Were he to hear more about Selek's time perhaps he could predict and assist with these episodes.

Not only was Jim Kirk his friend, it was also the case that he was in a unique position to understand the human's condition.

He had no trouble recognizing the post-meld stress symptoms. A meld as deep as theirs must have been, into a mind as emotionally compromised as his elder peer's was at the time, could only have been challenging and painful for Jim Kirk.

It had certainly been challenging for Nyota, the one time they tried it after...

_This is not the time for those thoughts. Focus,_ he told himself.

And while he would not accept responsibility for Selek's actions, he must accept it for his own. Were it not for him Jim Kirk would have been on the Enterprise, nowhere near the cave where his elder self was waiting.

Speaking to his elder self on the problem turned out to be much more enlightening than that. Selek saw all manner of divergences, many long before the attack on the Kelvin.

The Nomads, the Oasis, Homeworld, and all of the civilizations within the Seas of the Oasis were a glaring example. In Selek's reality the Time Planet existed, but without all of the sentient and space-dwelling life around it.

Selek transitioned from working with New Vulcan to serving as the Vulcan Ambassador to the Oasis to investigate this flourish of life and community that simply did not exist in his past reality. Switching roles with Sarek, he worked long distance while Sarek assisted with the diplomatic work closer to New Vulcan.

When Lt. Uhura's communicator couldn't pick up any signals in space, he knew that whatever McCoy had accomplished in the past had affected both the Enterprise and the civilizations represented in the heavy traffic above them in orbit.

He ordered his controls, putting out more heat to help him adjust to the colder temperatures of Earth, and resolved to mention this to Selek on their next call if he survived.

Currently the odds of their survival were utterly incalculable. The physics behind them figuring out where and when McCoy might be were beyond his abilities. His time and locational senses were all off.

He had no idea where or when he was. For a Vulcan who always knew those things instinctively, the contrast was extremely disconcerting.

Spock looked around. The four of them had jumped through the portal and into the middle of a forest. The air was 20.25 degrees Celsius, 21.6% humidity, with winds at 13.21 kilometers per hour from the Northwest.

His precise, logical observations had their intended effect: his biorhythms began to return to their established norms. It was only then that he realized at least one person was still experiencing extreme stress.

Specialist McGivers was looking around them, scanning the woods on all sides of the away team. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring as she took in short, deep breaths and then shot them back out again. Her heart rate was over 83.12% of what he had observed as her maximum rate, an indication of extreme stress in humans.

He caught Uhura's eye and looked in the Specialist's direction. Spock then turned to the Captain.

“You alright, Spock? Uhura? McGivers?” Kirk was the opposite. He was calm, his heart rate at 72.154% of his maximum, a “zone” where many humans reported positive effects on focus, attention, task performance, and even emotional wellbeing.

The Captain was almost enjoying himself.

Spock scanned the surrounding areas, working the tricorder as he spoke and reporting findings as they ticked through the device.

“Captain, according to my readings we are on Terra, otherwise known as Earth. We are in North America in what I believe---”

“--We're in the Tennessee River Valley,” the Specialist said, her voice shaking. Kirk spun around to face her, zeroing in on her with that laser-focused attention he was known throughout the Fleet for. Spock stepped forward but Uhura was already there, at the other woman's side.

Kirk moved in to question her, oblivious to her stress. “Based on where the Guardian was when we jumped, give us your best guess on when we are.”

“I... I don't know... I...” the Specialist stuttered, clearly to overwhelmed to respond. Lt. Uhura moved in and put her hands on the other woman's shoulders.

“We're all here together. We're all here for each other. You can do this. You know when it is.”

The Lieutenant's voice was a perfect balance of soothing and stern. The Specialist stopped speaking and took several deep breaths.

“We're in the Zombie Apocalypse. Maybe near the end, with 10-15 years left to go before the first functioning cities emerge.”

“See, I told you you knew.” Uhura continued to voice her support.

“You are an expert in the Survival narratives from this period in history, are you not Specialist? Perhaps you would make a recommendation as to our next actions.” Spock slowed and then stopped speaking at Uhura's pointed look.

Obviously that was the wrong thing to say.

“I... We need to get out of these clothes, Captain---” she said abruptly.

“Clothes? We're in one of the most violent parts of Earth's history and you are worried about clothes, Specialist?” Kirk asked, surprised.

“Yes, Captain. One of the **_most violent_**. And these clothes---” she said, punctuating her statement by yanking hard at the hem of her skirt to pull it down barely an inch, “---are dangerous for the Lieutenant and I.”

The Captain nodded and Spock could see concern for their welfare cross his face.

“The range of normal behaviors for them is a lot wider than it is for us. They are willing and comfortable doing things to other people that we would find very difficult. This Earth is a dangerous place, and the living are the most dangerous of all, Captain.”

Behind her a person broke through the trees and seemed to stumble towards them. She---a guess Spock made from her torn but obviously feminine clothing---tried to speak, but the words came out garbled.

Then the Specialist stabbed the native woman in the forehead with a stick. The stick went through more easily than Spock would have thought as the woman crumpled.

Spock stilled the urge to reel back at the brutality.

“Zombies,” McGivers said, a little breathless. “You've got to penetrate the brain to stop them from coming after you.”

“Good job, Specialist,” the Captain said, an authoritarian tone coloring his complement, “now let's get onto that path up there and figure out exactly where we are. We'll dodge in the first house or building we come to and look for some clothes.”

They quickly went from walking to running, meeting what looked like a road for automobiles and following it until they got to a sign.

“Henning – 1”

“Henning, TN is famously the home of author Alex Haley,” McGivers offered weakly, totally depleted from the running and fighting. Uhura and Kirk were barely winded and Spock estimated that he could go on like this for several days if necessary.

Uhura seemed to notice just as he did, looping an arm under the other woman's arm and pushing them both forward together.

They slowed their pace to a walk as they got into the town. There were lots of empty buildings, but most of them looked like they had been vacant even before the cataclysm. The buildings themselves were bare of shelving, furniture, and any useful items.

Finally they approached a one story building with a sign hanging from a tall pole in front of it that had “Poe's” in curved lettering.

“In here,” the Captain motioned and they pushed in as a group.

“He's a dreamer, I'm telling yo---” a man stopped mid-sentence and a room full of people turned to stare at them.

In accordance with Specialist McGivers's priorities, Spock noticed every single male's eyes linger on their Starfleet uniform skirts and the legs beneath them.

He put himself between them and alongside Captain Kirk. Both men then started to back out, Uhura and McGivers behind them and closer to the door.

“Our apologies, Gentlemen,” Kirk said.

“Hey, wait! There's no reason to go. Stay, we insist!” One of the men, a Caucasian male of average height with short brown hair and a face full of bristly brown stubble, called out to them. Other men in the group rose as well and that was when Spock noticed something odd.

No one in the group of people they had stumbled upon was female. The nine individuals assembled were all men, ranging in age from early twenties to late forties with the youngest among them in the center of the group.

The boy was barely eighteen and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Mack, let's just let them go. They wanna go...” the teen started, but stopped talking as the man continued.

“Come on in, fellas. Ladies. We'd love to meet ya.”

McGivers was frozen. Spock had seen that look on humans before and knew it would take her a few moments to regain her focus. He met the Captain's eyes and knew he'd seen the same thing.

The Captain then turned back to the group of men, focusing on the leader.

“It looks like you are in the middle of something and we wouldn't want to intrude,” Kirk began.

“Oh come on now. A lie is a poor way to say hello and we all want a little bit of company now and again in this lonely world---” his eyes drifted over to Uhura and McGivers, then back to Kirk, “---besides, Junior here was just about to get all hopeful with us.”

“A real dreamer, this one is!” another of the men added.

Kirk started towards him, nodding at the seats at the side of the bar closest to the door. They moved as a group, Spock and Kirk continuing to put themselves physically between the crowd of men and Uhura and McGivers.

“I'll only talk if we're really gonna listen,” the older teen started again, his voice hesitant even as he was obviously trying to sound confident, “and not do anything crazy.” He said the last part looking directly at Mack, clearly the leader. The older man nodded.

“Of course of course, Junior. We wouldn't dare interrupt your grand vision. Besides, surely that sort of talk will calm the room down a bit.”

Kirk, who had settled himself on the bar stool directly next to him, leaned over to whisper into his ear.

“Sometimes bars like this have a gun behind the counter,” he murmured.

The teen started to talk.

“Okay okay. Here it goes. Like they call me 'Junior'. I'm just a kid. What do I know, right?” he got a little bit of a laugh from the group, though several of the men were still pointedly focused on their away team.

“And I don't pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love when every day is just a struggle to survive. But I'm just telling you that you **do** need to survive because the days and the years ahead are worth living for. I know the world has gone to shit, but we are going to pick ourselves back up and, when we do, we are going to be able to harness incredible energies. Energies that could ultimately hurl us to other worlds---”

“---Other worlds?!? What the hell is he talking about?” One of the men in the group shouted, obviously someone unfamiliar with this particular 'dreamer's' speech. For a few moments the men traded barbs and while they were distracted Kirk boosted up on his hands to look behind the counter.

Then the bar doors opened again and Spock considered that he might be hallucinating. Perhaps some biological agent present on ancient Earth but not modern Terra was affecting his senses.

He was sure he had just witnessed Nekae walk into the bar.

“What are we fighting about guys?”

“Wait a minute wait a minute what do we have here?” This time another man spoke, a shorter pale skinned human with a protruding abdomen.

Spock was relieved that he was not the only one who could see her.

“Mind if I borrow some booze, boys?” she asked, walking over and hopping the counter.

“Did someone check the---”

“---not me, I just didn't think---”

Spock heard the men start to consider the possibility that a gun was behind the counter as his Captain had but it was too late. She was already behind the counter, bent down and looking under the bar.

She was definitely Vulcanoid. She sounded like Nekae only much more fluent and comfortable in Earth colloquial English than she had been on Ardana.

She was thinner too, her cheeks sunken in and her skin a darker green. Her hair was shaved down on one side and cropped, short curls on the other.

A bottle slammed on the bar, followed quickly by a second. Both said _Everclear_ in while letters on a blocked black background.

“This is better,” she said, turning the top off one and taking several loud, long gulps.

“Holy shit!”

“Daymn Girl!”

“Oh please! In my country this is cough syrup for children!” Then she turned and looked at him. For a second she stared, the moment broken as she looked over at the other members of the away team.

“You know these folks?” one of the men asked.

“No, but _we're_ obviously both from the same place,” she said, motioning back-and-forth from herself to Spock.

“And where's that?” Mack asked, his deep voice cutting through the murmured vulgar comments from some of the other men.

“Kyrgyzstan,” she replied. Turning directly to him she spoke in her own language and he was relieved again to hear the Nomads' variant on ancient Vulcan.

“ _It is about time you came to get me_ ,” she said, speaking to him loud enough for them to hear but in a language they were sure not to know.

“What are you saying? Speak English!” A man who had not yet spoken jumped to his feet and yelled, pulling the Captain to his feet as well. Spock stood and threw an arm in front of Kirk.

“Jesus Christ calm the fuck down!” Nekae shouted back, seemingly unphased, “I just said hello. Just trying to be polite.”

“Paul you yokel calm the hell down!” the leader Mack chastised the other man. This only served to make him sit and then sink back into the corner, training both Spock and Nekae with a suspicious look.

Nekae then turned the clear bottle of liquor up again and when she put it back down it was half empty.

“Mam, that can't be good for you...” the teen said, back to looking uncomfortable.

“Hey, I know who you guys are!” another man pointed at them, talking excitedly, “Ya'll are some of those gamer groupies!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mack asked.

“You remember those folks who would go to the park on the weekends and dress up as knights and shit? Where I'm from in Kansas, when the whole world went to shit those folks were just like, 'Guess we're doing this all the time now,” and they kept the armor on permanently.

“Hey man, I've heard of that! Ask Bobby about that time he met those Harry Potter wannabe wizards...”

Meanwhile Nekae continued to drink, draining the first bottle before opening the second.

“Daymn girl, I said **_slow down_**!”

The Nomad looked up at the person cautioning her.

“Know what's incredible about this? The whole world goes to shit. People kill over food, water, medicine. And yet, these bottles of yeasty and fermented intoxicants remain untouched. There are houses like this all over this part of the world. Explain that.”

“Explain how you are here right now...” Kirk said in a low voice, but not low enough.

“Say, ya'll seem a lot more familiar than just being from the same place. Do you really not know them?”

“I'm here right now,” Nekae began, looking at Kirk but loud enough for the others to hear as well, “because you people had the misfortune of stumbling into a bar right after this overflowing toilet of human excrement.”

Her voice kept its pleasant tone even as she motioned to the group of men she was insulting.

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

Paul was up and shouting again. She looked directly at him in reply.

“It means your group has a reputation of hurting women and making their men watch and these people definitely didn't sign up for that.”

Now she had their attention, men leaving their seats, hands lingering on belts as sidearms and knives were pulled out. Spock found himself on his feet before he even realized what he was doing. Kirk was up as well.

“Sit down. Everything's going to be fine,” Nekae said to the away team at the bar, “These guys were just leaving.”

“Oh we were...?” Mack strode forward towards the bar, only stopped when Spock stepped to the side and into his path.

Spock leashed the emotion that rose at the thought of the Nomad behind him, obviously in a weakened physical state.

One eye darted to his left at a scraping sound. Lt. Uhura had a long pistol she must have recovered from behind the counter. She was quietly showing Specialist McGivers how to use it.

In a bar fight Nyota would not need a gun to defend herself. She repeatedly scored top marks in her Combat Training courses.

That did not stop him from having to tighten the leash on that same primal emotion as it rose again, this time as he thought about having to defend her. She was strong for a human and a capable fighter, but weak for a Vulcan and her body itself was... small.

“You were,” Nekae said, and then a song started to play outside.

“What the fuck...?”

“Do you hear that?”

“I must be tripping 'cause that sounds like Madonna...”

The men started to get spooked and Mack walked forward. The others lowered their voices but were still talking behind him.

“What did you just do?” Mack asked. He was one of those people who sat and stood in a way that hid their true physical nature. Spock had observed Doctor McCoy use that same body language on many occasions. Now the ancient Earth man wanted to look threatening and he stood taller, his body literally cutting a path through the men as he came right up to Spock.

Spock stopped him before he could get to the bar.

“I just cued up some music. How can we have a good time if there isn't any music?” Nekae asked innocently from behind the wooden counter. She then pulled several small black devices from her pocket and laid them on the wood counter.

“Automatic car starters...”

“The sound will attract the zombies, you stupid bitch!” Paul lost it and raised his gun. There was a scuffle as the teen threw himself at the barrel of the rifle.

The shot hit the window pane and buried itself there. Spock focused on where the bullet went and buckled his knees, ignoring the painful reverberations from the gun shot as they battered his sensitive ears.

“She's full of Everclear and standing in front of a wall of alcohol! She'll blow up and then all those bottles will too,” the teen explained to the now snarling man.

“You're smart, kid. Smart enough that you should have ditched these guys after Covington.” At that the teen seemed to get embarrassed and looked away.

“What do you know about Covington?” Mack asked.

“I know that you all made Mr. Pounders, an old man in his 80s who never hurt anyone and was still taking people into his home long after the world went to shit, watch as you passed around his granddaughter. I know that it killed him and changed her life forever.”

“Did Debra tell? That's too bad. I thought we were clear with her about what would happen if she did that.” Mack's face changed, and Spock remembered how Uhura had explained to him that humans who had trouble feeling emotions were often also very adept at faking them.

Mack was not faking now. His face and body language were those of a predator.

“If you survive this, the only thing you could do that would be more dangerous is go after her. I spent a lot of time teaching her creative things to do should you return.” Nekae was serious now too and outside Spock could just faintly hear the sounds of people coming towards them.

Lots of people. And from all sides.

“Captain, we should go,” Spock said, knowing no one else could hear it yet.

“Bro, he's right. Zombies will be coming. And you remember how hard it was to get out of Memphis...” one of the men said as several others echoed the sentiment.

“That's right, you came through my wall. When I realized what you'd done I took some time and wrapped them around into one big circle,” Nekae took another long drink while several of the men in the group snuck out a back door.

“What are you fucking talking about?” Mack's use of profanity was muffled by his even tone.

Nekae looked up and into his eyes in response.

“Let me break this down for you as plain as I can: I have an army of zombies. I wanted them to make trouble for you so I put them between your merry band of misfits and Debra and somehow you tore through them. So I recruited myself a few thousand more and drew them around us from Ripley to Atoka. They're all coming here now, and maybe if you leave now you can cut through half of them before the whole wall starts to crumble inwards, zombies crushing you like falling bricks...”

Now the men were draining out of the bar. Mack gave her a last cold look.

“You'd better pray we all die.”

“If I ever pray that will be at the top of my wishlist,” the Nomad replied curtly as Mack, Paul, and the teen were the last out.

“How are you here right now?” Kirk asked, swiveling around and moving forward to the bar.

“How can you ask me that?” Nekae replied, searching the bar and finding a long knife. She hopped over the counter again and landed on the other side.

“I guess... I guess I could see how you might think I should be somewhere else,” Nekae said slowly, as if she were thinking it through, “but just remember where you found her.”

Spock was forming a hypothesis that explained this bizarre reaction and, if he was right he had to stop the Captain at once.

“Captain, perhaps our first priority should be getting out of here and through the horde of zombies.”

At that the Nomad laughed.

“Oh please. I'm a Bridge, remember? On a planet plagued by the undead I'm surrounded by allies.” Then she motioned at Uhura.

“Go grab that door and open it. We need to let in one at a time.”

“Why one at a time?” Kirk asked as he nodded at Uhura to do it. The Lieutenant moved over to the door and opened it, letting one in and past her before slamming it shut.

The zombie wobbled towards Nekae. She dropped to her knees and used the knife to gut the zombie, her body in perfect position to be showered by rotting entrails and internal organs.

She grabbed at a towel left on a table and wiped her face. Spock realized she must have closed her eyes and mouth and left the towel where she could reach it without looking.

“If we smell like them we'll be able to walk with the herd,” McGivers jumped in, her voice reflecting what Spock thought was excitement, “We could walk with them for miles as long as we don't talk.”

One-by-one they let more zombies in, each taking a turn and getting covered in zombie bodily fluids. Spock controlled the urge to retch as his turn came and he was cloaked with a powerful rotting stench.

“Even if we can walk, where are we going to walk to?” Kirk asked Nekae directly. “Didn't you just describe zombies surrounding us for miles in every direction?”

“Yes, but that's why we're in Henning,” she said, moving to the window and pointing.

“Henning is also known as the town next to Tennessee State Penitentiary,” McGivers said helpfully.

“We can ride out the zombies there,” Nekae continued, “and you can tell me how you got here.”

“I'm sure we both have stories to tell,” Kirk said pointedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of a posting fest. Happy binge reading!


	24. The City on the Edge of Forever, Part 3

The vehicle doors closed. For several seconds the only sound Lt. Nyota Uhura heard was the breath of living beings.

After what seemed like an eternity surrounded by the undead she felt her body relax. The four members of the away team sat in a small transport in close quarters. While the undead had taken over the town outside, the windows and doors created an artificial sense of safety. Of peace. 

She hated to interrupt it.

“We can’t trust her,” Uhura spoke low but still felt how her voice disturbed the air.

“She doesn’t trust us.” She added, keeping her voice at barely above a whisper. The Nomad Nekae had led them from the bar to a parking lot filled with transports. They cut across town silently behind her through a crowd of agitated zombies.

Making it to the transport had been everyone’s primary focus. Everyone except Nekae.

Nekae was still outside of the vehicle. Uhura knew they wouldn’t have another private opportunity to talk for some time and needed people to know what she was seeing.

As a Communications expert, Uhura was adept at reading body language, facial markers, and biometric indicators. She could tell, for example, that Spock was trying to stop the Captain from speaking to the Nomad. Each time he did, the Nomad’s emotional expression changed.

At first she was excited to see Spock and the away team. As the Captain spoke, Nekae lost enthusiasm, which was quickly being replaced with suspicion.

“She thought we were here to rescue her. We need to learn more before she learns otherwise,” Spock added, speaking quickly and quietly as well.

Outside Nekae was smearing the car with what looked like a human heart.

She then tossed the organ aside and weaved through zombies to the door, opening it with bloodied hands and sliding in quickly to close it shut behind her.

All of them were covered in rotting human blood and entrails. She’d been on plenty of away missions and never had it ever gotten quite this visceral.

She could understand why McGivers was freaking out. The woman should still be at the Academy, safe and studying in her dorm room with her worst fear being the survival training cruise that loomed large at the end of third year.

They were pushing these people out to space before they were ready.

“We’re going to drive in,” the Nomad explained as she turned something under the wheel. Under them the transport came to life and for a moment the zombies seemed to notice.

“It’ll pass,” Nekae assured them. After a few minutes the horde seemed to pick up something else and started to move away from the windows.

The vehicle lurched forward, the jerk pulling into a roll as the compact transport moved on small rubber wheels filled with air. They drove through town at this pace, and soon the horde was just moving around them.

“What did you do to the hood of this… I believe they called them cars?” Spock asked. He sat next to the Nomad in the front of the car and Uhura sat with Kirk on one side and McGivers on the other in the back.

“I said already. We’re going to drive into the jail. People will come up to kill the zombies that get in with us. If we don’t have a sign on our car they could kill us as we get out. They should, even.”

She had been speaking to Spock, but then looked up into a mirror mounted in the front of the transport.

“No offense, Kirk, but your planet is a shithole.”

The Captain started to respond and Uhura elbowed him. He shot her a look, but then seemed to reconsider his words.

“None taken. Thanks for the rescue.”

Uhura was watching the Nomad’s response through the same mirror. Her eyes narrowed and her shoulders rose.

The Nomad Nekae continued to trust them less and less.

Slowly the Penitentiary came closer and closer as they wound through town. Leaving the town they got on a road that led right up to the towering stone buildings. The car strained as they inched slowly up a steep hill.

The word _buildings_ didn’t really do them justice. They looked more like an ancient fortress.

They drove into a fenced in road, a few zombies moving in right beside them. Then there was a loud sound and the fence behind them started to move.

It closed behind them.

Then there were several shots, probably from their ancient weapons. She looked over at Spock, knowing that even through the car those sounds must be painful to him.

He showed no sign of distress. His body language was calm, just the way it nearly always was in the middle of a crisis.

All the zombies crumpled and fell onto the ground around the car. Then there was another sound and the fence in front of them started to open.

The car pulled in slowly and the fence pulled together again.

Driving up, the car moved along a road surrounded by grass. There were three different buildings, four watch towers around the structures, and a tall fence around the compound.

She counted two people in one of the watch towers. There were people on the grounds moving towards them, walking across the grass to surround the car.

She focused on a man close to the car. His walking posture was stiff. His face looked closed and suspicious. She quickly found the same telltale markers on several other people walking towards them.

“Captain, I don’t like this,” Uhura said, her overwhelming concern overriding their lack of privacy.

“I know them. It is fine,” the Nomad said to Spock, stopping the transport and getting out calmly.

“It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice but to follow her lead for the moment,” Kirk added quietly, though not nearly enough that the Nomad wouldn’t hear it.

They each got out. Uhura moved to the stand beside the Specialist.

Ironically, even though she knew the younger woman should be at the Academy, she was glad the girl was here instead. Without her knowledge of the period who knows if they would even have gotten this far.

_Don’t worry about Leonard now,_ she thought to herself.

“They don’t look hurt…” one of the men said, a tall man with dark brown skin and a North American accent.

_North America, United States, a city, Mississippi Delta, maybe Memphis_ her mind supplied as she sifted through his accent and word choice for clues.

“They aren’t hurt. They’re dangerous.”

At the Nomad’s pronouncement guns were drawn. The away team was surrounded by hostile ancient humans who trusted a Nomad more than any of them.

“We are not dangerous,” Spock said, stepping forward.

Uhura had observed the Captain and First Officer use this strategy on many occasions. Spock would take lead in a conversation and Kirk would watch their responses.

“Then how did you get here?” The Nomad didn’t seem to have a problem talking to Spock instead of the Captain.

“We were given permission to explore the Time Planet. We landed there and encountered the Guardian.”

Spock gave her information slowly, and both Kirk and Uhura were watching for how the Nomad reacted to each new piece of data.

At this she seemed surprised. Then she was searching her memory. Then she had a thought, though Uhura couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking.

She was an expert communicator, not a mind reader.

_Don’t worry about Leonard now._

“You met the Guardian? Did… the Guardian send you here?”

“Yes,” the Commander confirmed. After a moment he added, “Bones came through first, unwell after being given a medication in error, and time was altered. The Guardian sent us to fix the timeline.”

They were on the right track. The more Spock explained, the more open and receptive the Nomad’s face and body language became. She nodded, knowing that Spock would see her out of his peripheral vision.

It was strange to hear Spock use Dr. McCoy’s nickname so normally.

_Don’t worry about Leonard now._

“Are you saying,” the Nomad repeated back slowly, “that the Guardian sent you here to repair a breach in time?”

“Yes.”

Then she nodded. She turned to the man from the Delta.

“They’re fine. We’re good.”

Guns were lowered, but not put away.

“What do you mean? Are these Strays? How do they know about your _Guardian_?” he asked.

“They aren’t Strays. We know each other. They are from where I’m from. There was just a mix up at first. We’re good.” She started to look around. “Where’s the hose?”

He pointed towards one of the buildings and Uhura followed his hand with her eyes. Near the building someone was using a hose to produce a spray of water.

“Independent water source,” the man turned and spoke directly to the Lieutenant, “Since this is a prison, they had backup generators and systems in place in cases of emergency.”

“Can they stay, Jamarco?” Nekae asked, “I’ll do a run and make up whatever supplies they use,” she added.

The Nomad and the human Jamarco, who acted and was treated like the leader of the group, walked towards the building and the hose.

“You mean, after the storm you caused clears?” he asked. His words were accusatory but his tone was friendly.

The prison sat on a hill and all around them zombies were moving in what was now a sea of the undead. In the time it took to get from the bar to the prison zombies had overrun the town.

“I was defending human decency.” The Nomad stopped talking and closed both her eyes and mouth. She was sprayed with a hose, the water stripping off drying blood and human tissue, and Uhura sighed in relief realizing that she could finally get something like clean again.

Then the Nomad shrieked.

The four members of the away team stood in shock, herself included. She had never, not once, heard Spock make a noise like that, and she’d nursed him back from battle wounds, injuries, and strange illnesses.

“What?” the little girl holding the hose asked, “The water is warm.”

“To you!” Nekae shot back, but without any malice. She turned and took off for the building, not stopping to say anything to the others. “Help them out, would ya?” she shouted over her shoulder.

“You’re going to want to go where she’s going after this,” Jamarco said, this time to Spock. “We found a small room with a furnace that we keep warm for her. She told us how you all get cold.”

A chill ran up her spine. The Nomad was telling ancient humans about the future, about sentient life on other worlds, and who knows what else. Contaminating their culture.

While they shared one tricorder among them and left their communicators and phasers behind to avoid changing the past.

_What could Leonard have done that would have affected time more than what she’s doing?_ Uhura thought.

* * *

 

Crossing the threshold, Spock observed a 22.2 degrees Celsius increase in the temperature. He allowed his body its natural response: a longer exhalation and a relaxing of the musculature of his neck and shoulders.

While those movements would not have disturbed a human, on the floor closest to the ancient metal furnace a bundle started to shift.

The Nomad Nekae had taken a seat on the floor close to the furnace and was straightening.

“Cold, Aristocrat? I can go…”

Her face was soft in the way that faces on beings with skin-like coverings were often soft just before sleeping or upon waking. As she moved to stand her left arm swept out. Her arm was thinner than it had been the last time they spoke, now of a radius only millimeters different from Nyota Uhura’s.

While that radius was attractive to him on Nyota, he found himself having a different reaction to it on Nekae.

She was unwell. Her Vulcanoid body should have a more pronounced musculature and, under conditions like low gravity, a layer of body fat was expected.

“There is no need,” he assured her. Moving forward, he bent to sit by the fire.

She did not resume her state of relaxed repose. Instead she moved to sit up and face him. She blinked her eyes as if trying to energize them with the movement.

“You need not make any exceptional effort. You are tired.” At that she laughed.

“That’s a constant. This planet doesn’t produce all of the things necessary to feel…” she grew silent trying to think of the word, “… _tem-tan-te_?”

Of course Earth did not produce all of the nutrients necessary to nourish and sustain a Vulcan body. Certainly not when the conditions required scavenging for an extended period of time. They were not native to this planet.

“How long have you been here?”

This time she ignored his question. She drank from a clear plastic bottle and offered it to him. He accepted the bottle and took a drink.

“I’ll help you find your Bones.”

“We are grateful for the assistance.”

Silence stretched between them. Over subspace it was never this difficult to forward the conversation with her. Or at least, it had not been for some time.

“Tell the others not to worry. If the Guardian brought you here, then here is where you are supposed to be. When you find Bones the Guardian will bring you back to your time.”

He found her word choice unsatisfactory. Perhaps her use of Ancient Terran English was not as proficient as he had assumed.

“You meant the Guardian will bring us back to our time, did you not?”

She looked up at him then, almost taking stock of him.

“You already know that I didn’t.”

At that the Nomad did get up, walking away from the furnace to the wall behind it. The room was small---approximately 80 square feet---but her action still put distance between them.

In this one-on-one interaction, more than before in front of the rest of the away team, the contrast between her and the Nekae he spoke to over subspace was stark.

This Nekae was physically weak, completely undrugged---with anxiety and hypervigilance as a result---, uncomfortable with conversation and questions…

He felt the primal protective instinct begin to well and grow inside him again. He made the conscious decision not to control it this time, hoping that the Nomad was still as able to read him as she had been on all of their “game nights”.

In this instinct he was akin to all other Vulcanoid males. Surely she would be familiar with it.

“When we first met in Henning you were ready to return home with us.”

“That was before I knew we were out of sync.”

It was as he suspected---she expected them because they were the reason for her presence here. They did not expect her because the events leading up to her journey here had not yet occurred for them.

They were out of sync chronologically.

“It is possible for people from other times and even other realities to exist as contemporaries. They can even be in the same physical space.”

“How do you know that?” Her eyes were narrowed and her head turned in profile.

“I have been in the same time and place as a future version of myself. He is 131.45 Federation Standard years my senior and from a reality that no longer exists.”

“So you have an older, alternate reality version of yourself hanging around and your Captain has a ghost twin. Who the hell are you people?”

She let out two short breaths after she spoke, a behavior Spock had observed to be similar to laughter.

“It stands to reason that, if I can have---”

“---no, it doesn’t. It is more complicated than that.”

He waited for her to continue. When she did not he started to speak again.

“As I was---”

“---I mean, for Nomads. It is more complicated than that for us.”

He suppressed his frustration. Their conversation was stilted, unproductive, and uncomfortable.

“How so?” he asked once he knew he could speak in a neutral tone.

She rose again and moved back to the furnace. He knew he must continue to press her. She could not be allowed---whatever the reason may be/might have been---to continue to live in Earth’s past. There was always the possibility she would kill the wrong person, or save the wrong person, or make any number of decisions that could change the course of Earth history.

 “Did you come through the Guardian to get here? And if you are finished with your task, why have you not been returned?”

She opened her mouth to answer and then stopped. Her face took on an expression he could not identify and then she started to nod.

“The Disciples at Suk Heya aren’t really big on forgiveness.”

The conversation took a turn he didn’t expect. He was grateful when she continued.

“They say that, if someone is truly sorry then they will stand in your place and suffer as you have suffered.”

He struggled to think of a response. It was obvious that she had suffered, though his lack of knowledge about the events that brought her here meant that he had no idea who the source of her suffering was.

“You’ve harmed me. You don’t realize it yet, but it won’t be long now before you will.”

Surely if he had caused her harm that was profound she would not have greeted him openly at the bar. Even so, he had no wish to harm her.

“Perhaps if I knew the circum----”

“---It blows, doesn’t it? Not knowing a critical piece of information? Having to wait to find out, when someone right next to you already knows?”

He suppressed frustration again at her interruptions. She was one of only two people who ever interrupted him.

He did not like it when the Captain did it either.

“This is recompense. I’m not going to tell you what happens next, just like you didn’t tell me what I needed to know. When you find out, consider us even.”

_Consider us even_ was a phrase his mother often used.

_What I needed to know_ was vague, but he could not help but make the connection his mind wanted to make. To the destiny he had spent months investigating.

Arriving at the Time Planet gave him additional information for his inquiry. The Time Planet did give off waves of temporal displacement. Nomads were clearly accustomed to gathering around the waves. Months of investigation had confirmed that each Nomad had a destiny, some future task they felt they were born to complete. Ambassador Selek even data to add from this own investigations. Many Nomads routinely told stories about traveling in time.

He could just tell her now about his mother. He could just ask her…

But now was not the time. They must return Earth history to its normal course and get all of the people not native to this time back to their present. In the present, every member of the Enterprise crew and perhaps billions of other lives hung in the balance.

_The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one_ he reminded himself.

“I regret harming you. I would never knowingly do so.”

As he spoke, he held in his mind how his father looked at his mother at times when apologies were in order. Nekae shook her head.

“I know, Aristocrat. I know.”

It was in that moment that he identified another way in which she different from her past self. She had not once used his appellation.

She had not once called him _Bondmate_.

He had, of course, never used the nickname. Despite her logical explanation, he was still discouraged by the dishonestly of its use. At most he tolerated it.

Now he found its absence one more sign that she was unwell.

“Return with us. We can do whatever is necessary to mediate any ill effects.”

“Don’t you think I want to go with you? I want that more than anything. But I can’t. And I won’t explain why---because in this you **_truly_** deserve no explanation---but even if I did it wouldn’t matter.”

She knelt down close to the fire in the furnace and he felt the urge to move towards her. Moving to kneel down next to her, Spock leaned in as he spoke.

“Return with me and you will have the protection of the House of Surak. A House you know to be both powerful and formidable. However complicated it is, I pledge to return you to a time at least near to your own.”

For the first time since finding her here on ancient Earth, Nekae looked at him with the affection he had grown accustomed to from her.

“Let’s just find Bones, huh?”

At that she rose and moved towards the door. When he moved to follow her she held out her hands to stop him.

“Stay. Your clothes are still wet and I’ve got a change here but you don’t. When you leave go up the metal stairs. There is a room above this one with another furnace but it is bigger. The others often gather there and that’s probably where your people are.”

He watched her leave. After a moment he stripped out of his boots, pants, over shirt, and under shirt. Hanging them on a pipe he sank down in front of the furnace into meditation pose.

Completing this mission and returning everyone to their present was shaping up to be both easier and more difficult than he had anticipated.

* * *

 

Taking a deep breath, Nyota Uhura opened the metal door and entered the room the humans here called “the hot box”.

She saw his shadow first, a figure sitting cross-legged and facing the window of flame in the furnace. He turned his head, the sign he used to give her when she entered his quarters and found him in meditation.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Sir---“

“---you have not. However, my state of dress is inappropriate.” He started to rise and she moved forward to stop him.

“No, it’s okay. Your clothes might not be dry yet. Besides…” she trailed off, holding up the folded pile of clothes in her arms. One of the humans had donated a pair of pants, several shirts, and a thick pair of socks.

“You have seen it all before?”

Her jaw dropped. She looked at him, scandalized. And then she laughed, a full, open-mouthed laugh.

“Spock, I really hope at least the Captain and the Doctor know you have a sense of humor…”

“I suspect they do.”

His eyes had that glint they used to have when he teased her.

He hadn’t teased her in months. They hadn’t spoken in anything other than a professional capacity in months.

She missed it. And looking at him she thought he might have missed it too.

“Can we have a Spock and Nyota conversation, instead of a Commander and Lieutenant conversation?”

“Yes.”

She was surprised at how quickly he agreed. That said, Gaila wanted them all back together and she knew better than most how persistent and persuasive the Orion could be.

She realized then that he had stood in deference to her. She moved closer to the fire, lowered herself down to sit, and then nodded at him to do the same.

She missed how easy it was to communicate with him. All they needed to do was share a look.

“Spock, Gaila said that she spoke to you. I don’t know quite what that entailed, but I can imagine. Sometimes, after conversations, Gaila walks away thinking one thing and the person she’s talking to leaves with a… different understanding…”

This happened often enough that Nyota was sure Gaila sometimes did it on purpose, pretending not to understand things she fully comprehended. At the Academy that often ended with Nyota talking to someone for her friend, often a sexual partner but not always, and explaining that Gaila’s attentions tended to be fleeting.

The opposite was true in Spock’s case.

“I will admit that, until very recently, I did not understand the true nature of Gaila’s affections.”

“Tell me about it.”

Nyota blurted that out without thinking and was mortified. But Spock’s face was nothing but understanding.

“I am… not savvy when it comes to understanding the emotions of others, as you well know.”

She smiled at that.

“Hey, I call myself an expert at reading people’s emotions and I feel the same way. If we hadn’t found her there are so many things about her and us that I wouldn’t have known…”

Uhura had just started talking and the words flowed out of her. She’d remembered all the times she talked to Gaila about Spock, but not all the times she’d spoken to Spock about Gaila.

Spock understood Gaila in ways that Nyota never could. They had both been non-humans on Terra, minorities at Starfleet, cut off from their families.

For a moment the fire from the furnace was the fire from his firepot and they were back in his dorm at the Academy, sitting on the floor and talking about her Orion friend.

Then she realized she was crying. She took a gasping breath in and started blinking to cover it up.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“Nyota, I have never objected to you mourning her.”

Her head snapped up and she stared at him in shock.

“I thought… perhaps you considered that I might object. I tried to make it clear that you could share that with me and, when you did not I tried to support you in other ways. But know that I have never objected. My own loss, though overwhelming at times, was not such that I could not support you.”

She just let the tears fall as she thought about what a fool she was. She called herself a Communications expert and prided herself on how many languages she knew, how many different non-human cultures she had experience with… and all the while the two people closest to her were a mystery.

In her relationship with an Orion she was the one was refusing a more exclusive commitment. In her relationship with a Vulcan she was the emotionally-unavailable one.

“I have harmed you…” he began, and she could see that she’d upset him.

“…no no I’m okay. I’m actually happy.”

“I see.”

She knew he didn’t and laughed again, though this time her laugh was laden with emotion.

“It is obvious that, despite my rigorous training, I’m not always the best communicator.” Spock started to object and she held her hands up. “No no no, let me finish. I don’t want any more misunderstandings between us because I’m not asking for what I want or because I think I know what you need.”

“Clarity is always preferable.”

“Yes it is. Spock, Gaila wants us to all be friends again, like we were before you graduated.”

When they were all students. Before he became a professor. Before they were lovers.

“I am amenable to that. I would… enjoy your presence, and hers, in my life once more.”

She watched the Vulcan speak slowly, choosing his words with care, and wanted more than anything for him to be as comfortable with her as he had been back then.

“She thinks you are fine with her and I…”

“I am. I find it an excellent match. At least I can trust that Gaila will attend to you as you deserve.”

She was shocked at how earnest he looked. Though she had always been surprised at how much the emotions he did feel played out on his face.

“…and I’ve explained to her that you will never be comfortable with the three of us being more than friends.”

There he started nodding.

“I am grateful. Nyota, I had become concerned that perhaps she would forget that my nature, as a Vulcan, would preclude it.”

“Oh I reminded her. Though…”

She remembered his state of undress for the first time since they’d started talking. She looked him up and down, his body just as well cared for as she remembered.

“…don’t ever do this with her around. She gets really casual about clothes and sometimes if you are around her that can rub off and if she sees this…”

“I understand,” he replied solemnly. Rising, he took the clothes from where she was still holding them in her lap and started to change into them. As he moved to pull on his boots he looked over at her.

“I am told the room upstairs is also warm. What is your assessment?”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“You might be warm enough by the furnace in the center of the room. Come on, I’ll show you.”

* * *

 

Hunger finally drove him to the corner of the trunk.

_Del Monte Quality Sliced Peaches_ the label said.

He sat there for several minutes just staring at it, reading it over and over again.

_Twilight Zone_ … his mind supplied, remembering the old black and white shows his cousin the anthropologist had been obsessed with when they were both younger men.

Back when he was younger, which was hundreds of years in the future now.

It was then, when he was crammed into the corner of the trunk of the car thinking thoughts much too big for him, that the doors were wrenched open.

Three men piled into the car, two in the front and one in the back. McCoy barely had the presence of mind to push the seat back up so that the back seat itself went all the way across again.

Now he was in the trunk of a moving car with three other passengers.

“Stupid WHORE! When I get a hold of her I’m gonna tear her apart!”

“Quiet down, Paul.”

In the front two middle aged men went at each other, one calm while the other ranted and raved. In the back a boy that looked barely older than Chekov was sitting in silence. His head jerked as he looked out the windows.

Now there were dead humans walking around the car in every direction for as far as the eye could see.

Finally the two men quieted down. After driving in silence for a time, McCoy decided he’d be better off making his presence known.

“Not to be a bother…” be began, but before he could get any further the young guy screamed and then there was a gun pointed at his head from the front seat.

The Doctor saw the driver looking at him through the mirror mounted on the front dash.   
  
“Whoa now, Paul. He’s not dead or he wouldn’t be talking. You bit, Sir?”

The driver seemed to be the leader. At least, the most aggressive man in their group was listening to him at the moment.

“No, not bit.”

McCoy remembered learning in his history class as a kid that the Zombie Apocalypse was the result of a plague, some genetically-modified bug the Augments had created. Getting a bite from one of the undead jumpstarted the transformation process.

“Naw Mack, it looks more like this one drunk from the wrong bottle,” the young guy added. “Hey, he’s got on a uniform too.”

“I am Leonard McCoy, Senior Medical Officer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise.”

That didn’t get a response right away and McCoy strained to see above the back seat and into the cab. All three of the men were talking to each other in low voices. Finally the driver spoke again.

“Medical Officer, huh? Is that like a doctor?”

“I am a doctor. Also a surgeon. Sometimes a psychiatrist but I really dislike head shrinking folks. I’d rather leave that to the Sigmund.”

They talked some more about him. Normally he’d have been quick to point out that keeping secrets was hardly polite, but he was clear-headed enough now to realize how much he was at their mercy.

“I don’t mean to disbelieve you,” Paul pointed out, “but that’s hardly a Navy uniform.”

“It’s quite all right. I don’t believe in any of you right now either.” McCoy could hear himself starting to slur his words. Time for another nap.

As he fell asleep he could hear the young man talking to him from over the back of the seat.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you. We could definitely use a doctor.”


	25. The City on the Edge of Forever, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Apocalypse Earth is a dangerous place. References to graphic sexual violence, hate crimes, implied domestic violence.

“Well, you look just fine, Doc!”

The teen from the car sat in the pew in front of him. McCoy rose from the pew he’d been laying in and the first thing he noticed was how much easier it was to _think_.

His headache was gone. Body aches too. His skin was no longer splotchy.

“Thanks to you, kid. What’s your name?”

“They call me Junior.”

The teen looked over his shoulder and McCoy’s eyes followed him. The driver, Mack, and his gun-pointing passenger Paul were on the other side of the church in the Sanctuary. Mack looked over at him and then continued speaking to Paul too quietly for the doctor to hear.

“Doc, do you know where you are? What’s the last thing you remember?”

The kid seemed nervous and Leonard wondered if he was worried he would have to break the news to him that the world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Don’t worry about my mind, kid. I’ve convinced myself that this is all a cordrazine hallucination.”

“Is that the drug you ODed on?”

“Something like that. Listen son, I came here with a group of folks. I need to get back to them. I---“

“---Don’t worry! We ran into your people a ways back, in town before the horde hit. The guys are putting up a message to them now.”

“A message?”

“Yeah. And if they are looking for you and they made it through the horde, they’ll see it.”

At the mention of _the horde_ , McCoy’s eyes were drawn to the church windows. They were boarded up from the inside, but he could see fingers pressing through the gaps between the planks.

* * *

 

The laughing and cheering from down the hall was loud enough that he was sure Nyota could hear it. Together they entered the space which, from all appearances, was once a kitchen and dining area.

On the right hand side of the large room, long tables and chairs had been cleared. Captain Kirk was circling one of the human survivors.

His shoulders and neck tightened as his body instinctively primed itself for a fight. Preserving the Captain’s life was in his job description as First Officer.

Then he felt a hand on his left forearm sleeve.

“It’s fine. They are just sparring.”

He looked down at the Lieutenant. She was looking around the room, reading faces and body language.

“She’s right. Teaching fighting and other ‘survival’ behaviors is very normal for this period,” McGivers added, coming up beside them, “and the Captain was challenged. It would have been rude of him to refuse.

Laughter drew his attention upward. The large room was crowned with a balcony around the top. Humans were leaning over and against metal barriers. The sparring seemed to be getting a good bit of attention.

He looked down at the Lieutenant again for a read on the room. She was relaxed, her arms at her sides.

“Commander, a word?”

Spock nodded to the Specialist.

“I know my memory is not as reliable as the tricorder, but I’m pretty sure I knew the young guy at the bar in Henning.”

Her arms pulled together in front of her and her hands were intertwined in an action his mother would have called “worrying”.

“Go on,” he prompted her.

“The way he talked about the future, he easily could have been David “Junior” Michaels, the first mayor of New Nashville.”

At this Spock reached under the coat he had been lent and pulled out his tricorder. He had preserved as much power as he could, and there was no display, nor was there access to the ship’s databank, but he should be able to pull up stored library records.

_David “Junior” Michaels, 2038-2100_  

_Notes: Mayor of New Nashville, access files here; First Terran political figure to meet non-Terran life form, access files here;_

 

Spock clicked to access the files on New Nashville. Without a display, the pictures would be inaccessible.

“Click on the speeches. 2061.”

The Specialist leaned over his left arm. He followed her instructions and a speech began to play at low volume.

 

_“I know the world has gone to shit, but we are going to pick ourselves back up and, when we do, we are going to be able to harness incredible energies. Energies that could ultimately hurl us to other worlds, feed our families, and cure disease. We might be few in number, but there are just enough of us for each man to have hope and a common future, and those are the days worth living for…”_

 

He cut the tricorder off and set it to low power mode.

“Your memory is correct, Specialist. When we return, you can include in your report that you encountered a person notable in your planet’s history…”

She shook her head. Clearly he was incorrect in his assumption as to why this information was important. He nodded to her to speak.

“If that was David Michaels, that means he---and probably at least a few of those guys---survived the army of zombies. They are probably taking cover close by, just like us. And if we meet them again we cannot hurt Michaels.”

“—or we risk causing another breach, just as we were diligently working to repair one.”

“Exactly.”

“Good work, Specialist.”

Spock worked to increase his positive affirmations to subordinate crew. Naturally he would not give them so often, but Captain Kirk insisted they were essential for crew morale and would increase efficiency.

Above their heads, the humans were very vocally critiquing Captain Kirk’s sparring techniques.

“This brother fights like a cave man!”

“KeeeYAW!”

“Boy can kick those legs up though. Get him with those legs, BOY!”

Spock checked Uhura’s face again. She had a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were alight with mirth.

If she were amused, surely they were still safe.

“It’s like Greco-Roman wrestling…”

  
“Dude, this is like if high school wrestling was really teaching you how to fight!”

“Yeah! And the wrestling team was really Fight Club!”

“He’s rolling like a bowling ball!”

“DO A BARRELL ROLL!”

The voice caught his attention and he looked up at a man whose face resembled a small mammal of the Leporidae family.

“Amanda’s gone.”

His mind picked her name out of the cacophony. Above his head and to his left stood the survivor Jamarco and the Nomad Nekae.

_As she has no belief in privacy…_ he thought, listening in on their conversation.

“Your point?” Nekae’s tone was one he had heard before. Annoyance.

“My point is, she’s the only one who could tell you what to do.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know what I mean. You’re strong. Fast. You can get abnormally single-minded. I’ve watched you go days without eating, drinking, and sleeping without getting tired. You can be dangerous.”

“I feel **_so_** dangerous in this giant pillow coat.”

This elicited a laugh from Jamarco.

“You’ve got a weakness. Thank goodness. But you know what I mean. You weren’t made for this world. You don’t belong here.”

Nekae’s exhalation was audible.

“Don’t you think I want to go?”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“They aren’t exactly where or when I’m from. They’re behind a bit. And he told me about their wanting to meet the Guardian, but then he stopped talking to me about it. Right after that something happens. I can’t go back---I’ll be right in place to tear time.”

“It sounds like you know enough not to do that. And this is a hell hole. Any one of us would get out if offered the opportunity. **_Take it._** ”

A static sound interrupted them and Jamarco reached for something on his belt. An ancient device. He held it up to the side of his face.

“What?”

* _The old church in town has guests. Two men are painting a message on the roof._ *

“What does it say?”

* _We have your Doctor._ *

“J, can you round them up? I need to go to Admin Seg.”

Spock watched her back as the Nomad bolted for the stairs. The crowd cheered and then the Captain was approaching them.

“Guess they shouldn’t have called me a Cave Man…”

“They’ve found the Doctor,” he informed the Captain, motioning up at Jamarco, who was coming down the stairs towards them.

“Captain, permission to…”

“Go. We’ll regroup shortly out front.”

* * *

 

The human who volunteered to take him to “Admin Seg” was called Gerry.

Gerry’s body language made it clear, even to one as unskilled at reading emotions as Spock, that Admin Seg was not a place he wanted to go or be.

“I have a good memory for directions,” Spock mentioned casually, “and if you wish to leave me when we find Nekae, know that I will be able to find my way back to the first floor exit.”

The idea that any being would not be able to navigate themselves out of a building, even one where all of the rooms and halls were similarly shaped, colored, and adorned… the only reason he had any context for imagining that a sentient, intelligent being could get “lost” in this way was his mother.

She could lose the flitter in a lot of less than 30 vehicles.

“Oh good good. Yeah, I’ll just leave you here. Alright, Admin Seg is just through there.”

Gerry pointed at a metal door at the end of the hall.

Spock was not bothered or unduly emotional about the fact that the human survivor had no intention of going through the door with him.

The door scraped loudly, metal on stone, echoing in the empty halls. He moved it as little as possible and then squeezed into the room.

It was once again silent. They he heard a lowered voice.

“That was wrong of them.”

It was Nekae, but changed. He was reminded of their time on Ardana, in the mines. Her voice had gotten deeper, her tone more removed.

“Where can I find allies?”

Her words made Spock think she was speaking to someone he could not hear. A _ka’dri_ , perhaps?

“Even small towns on occasion harm their own.”

Spock walked slowly down the side of the room. Bars to cells ran past him on the left and the voices seemed to come from closer to the end of the hall.

“I can get there. Where are their bodies buried?”

The Nomad’s back came into view. She was sitting in a cell on the lower bunk, her body facing the back wall.

“Fortunate for me. Thank you.”

At the expression of gratitude, the Nomad put her hands together and bowed her head.

He stilled a feeling of horror as the Nomad turned. Her eyes were a solid black. She stood and walked forward slowly, her eyes focused on nothing he could see.

“Spock?”

It was then that he realized that, with her eyes dark as they were, she was unable to see.

“I am here.”

She let herself out, her hands moving for the bars fluidly, even without the benefit of sight. Her body language made it clear that she was familiar with this place.

Walking through the door she nearly walked into him. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“May I assist you? Until your _tvi-bezhun-wein_ recedes?”

He watched her consider this. Perhaps the Modern Vulcan for inner eyelid was not close enough to the Nomad dialect for her to easily understand.

He held his right arm out to her. Taking her wrist over the cuff of her voluminous outerware he guided her hand to his arm.

“Oh. Yes.” The black on her eyelids was already fading, leaving the flesh color underneath. She squeezed his arm and they began to move down the narrow corridor.

Spock knew that it could take minutes or even hours for the inner eyelids to recede and normal vision to resume. He had recent experience, having been blinded by the manufactured sunlight in an experiment during their mission on Ingraham B.

He was still mortified that he had completely forgotten about his _tvi-bezhun-wein_ and declared himself blind in such a dramatic, emotional fashion.

The humans around him took it in stride. Apparently it was normal for them to forget about their own body parts. Conversations between Leonard and Jim made it sound as if human men frequently walked around ignorant of their own anatomy in ways that were shocking to Spock’s Vulcan sensibilities.

Nekae squeezed his arm again as they started down the stairs. She was abnormally quiet---though, he corrected himself, perhaps this was normal for her now.

As they stepped down onto the first floor, where sunlight streamed through the barred windows, she loosened her grip.

She stood at his side blinking, her eyelids slowly rising. She put a hand up to cover her eyes as they adjusted to direct light and stimulus once more.

Outside near the hose the Captain, Lt. Uhura, and Specialist McGivers were assembled.

“Doctor McCoy is being held hostage in a church in town,” the Captain briefed him as they approached.

“How do we know he is a hostage?”

With so many lives relying on their efforts, they must guard against illogical assumptions.

“The message said, ‘ _We_ have _your_ Doctor.’” Lt. Uhura answered, “It is more about us and them than it is Doctor McCoy. He is the object, not the subject.”

“McGivers thinks that these might be some of the men we met at the bar,” Kirk continued.

“If they are, we cannot hurt or kill the teen,” the Specialist added.

“Then we’ll need something smarter than the average zombie.” Nekae’s voice sounded back to normal.

“What does that mean?” Kirk asked. Now they were standing in a circle almost huddled together.

Even in the protruding outerware, the Nomad was still able to warm his side.

“It means that I’ll need to run an errand on the way. And ya’ll are going to need a bulldozer.”

“To dig up some dead bodies,” Jamarco added healpfully. “She can’t even make a rescue plan without digging up some of the few dead lucky enough to still be lying down.”

The Nomad and the survivor began to argue quietly and Spock turned to the away team.

“Captain, Nekae seems to think that just being reunited with McCoy will be enough to trigger the Guardian to open a portal back to our time.”

“Let’s hope she’s right.”

“We should take her back with us.” Lieutenant Uhura surprised him by saying exactly what he was thinking.

“She is talking to pre-space flight humans about the future. She’s talking about non-Terran life forms to Terrans who’ve not yet met any on their own. And her armies of zombies are tearing through this part of North America…”

“Agreed.” The Captain nodded but didn’t continue.

He was staring off into space. Clearly trying to reconcile a present that did not match what his mind told him it should be.

When Spock returned he would ask Ambassador Spock about their mission on the Time Planet.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” the Captain said, coming back to himself much faster this time than he had in the past.

This lapse (12 seconds) was longer than the shortest Spock had observed (4 seconds) but much shorter than the longest (27 seconds).

“…Spock, go with Nekae and make sure she ends up at the church. Lt. Uhura, since Jamarco has volunteered to go with us, go with him to the lumber yard we saw on the way here and get a bulldozer. McGivers, you and I are going to the church.”

Spock turned, hearing the loud sounds of a vehicle. A compact car was cutting across the grass, driven by the survivors Spock had seen up in one of the guard towers. The car pulled up next to them and stopped.

“J, we’ve got everything you asked for,” a human woman with pale skin and a shaved head opened the trunk of the car as two others exited, “riot gear, helmets, and a giant garbage bag full of zombie parts. Enjoy!”

As he passed the ancient human armor around and Lt. Uhura opened the bag of human remains, Spock decided his enjoyment was a rather illogical request.

* * *

 

Nekae watched the car drive off, leaving her on the side of the road with the Aristocrat.

They were both covered in entrails again, and while the undead were attracted by the car, their stench quickly made them lose interest.

“If you run, you can catch up to them. Seriously, I’ve done this plenty of times.”

She spoke softly, using their trick from Ardana to keep from attracting the attention of the zombies all around them.

“How many?”

She ignored his question. They were on Highway 87 and a street the humans called Thumb Road. She looked around and then started moving towards the patch of woods that the undead seemed to avoid.

“It seems logical that, if I am to assist you, I should know more about the task…”

“I don’t need your help. Honestly, you should just stay here by the road.”

He followed her into the woods. Of course, why would she ever think a Dry One would listen.

She turned to snap at him again when she saw one out of the corner of her eye.

A _ka’dri_ was hiding in the trees. Scared, even in death.

With what Ms. Violet had told her, the _ka’dri_ had every reason to be afraid.

Ms. Violet was a _ka’dri_ herself, the ghost of a woman trapped in a man’s body, then trapped again in a men’s prison.

Nekae stopped, then reached out to grab the Aristocrat by the arm.

“ _Pechau-ka_ …” she breathed, wanting him to stop but not wanting to scare the _ka’dri_ away.

For a few moments they stood still, surrounded by towering Earth vegetation. Silent, the only sounds around them were the blowing of leaves in the wind and the crunching of brush by small, hair-covered Earth mammals.

The _ka’dri_ looked as she must have in death. It was clear that she’d started out a great beauty, but at some point her face paints were smeared, her hair was ripped and torn from her head, and her dress was shredded.

Looking over at the Aristocrat it was obvious that he saw nothing.

She looked down at her wrists. Even in the layered cloth and fluffy coat she was still cold. The icy air seemed to leech her energy from her.

Thinking she might be able to save some energy for the church, she decided to make the Aristocrat useful after all.

“Since you’re here, I guess you can help,” she said generously.

In response he raised an eyebrow, ever the Patrician. She started peeling the more solid entrails off her and nodded at him to do the same. She knew they couldn’t get completely clean---or risk the zombies again as soon as they left this cursed patch of forest---but would need to get clean enough that the _ka’dri_ would recognize them as alive.

“We’re here to gather the wronged. These woods are behind a church, and when members of this community strayed from the church’s teachings and were… unapologetic… they were lured out here.”

As she spoke to the Aristocrat she watched the _ka’dri_. If she could avoid assuming the mantle right now by talking about the _ka’dri_ but not to them, she’d have that much energy left when they got to the church.

All around them other _ka’dri_ slowly crept out from behind trees. Their clothing made it seem like this had been a site of atrocities for generations.

“You speak of ghosts, or _ka’dri_ , correct? And when we have them, what will we do with them?”

She shook her head, frustrated.

“We never have them. They have themselves, even now. We can only ask them to help us.”

The group of _ka’dri_ drew even closer. There were seven women, all dark skinned and baring the marks of violent ends.

They deserved and would respond to respect far better than orders.

“The church down the road, St. Mark’s, is filled with men who harm women. Men who saw the end of civilization as an opportunity to be as monstrous as they wished to be. These _ka’dri_ understand how respectable men can sometimes turn brutal. With the _ka'dri_ at our side we can beat them and recover your friend. Without them, we will surely fail.”

The desert Aristocrat seemed to realize that she was talking less to him and more for the benefit of others. He nodded slowly, a sign that he was willing to play along.

She had forgotten what a fun companion he could be. For her it had been years since Organia, Ardana, and the Federation Conference.

One of the _ka’dri_ tried to speak to her. Without the mantle on it was garbled. Unclear.

“We know many of the restless spirits here have bodies at the cemetery behind St. Mark’s. If they are willing, I can give them form for long enough to take some vengeance.”

The _ka’dri_ were willing. They stood tall and one motioned for her and her living companion to lead the way.

“It is a ways to the church, but we can walk it,” Nekae said as she hiked back up to the road.

Behind her she heard the Aristocrat following. Now if she could just figure out how she was going to shake him.

* * *

 

The bullets ricocheted off the metal of the bulldozer.

“KEEP DIGGING!” Jamarco yelled. He was right beside her but he still had his riot gear helmet on and the large machine’s engine to compete with.

Lt. Uhura continued digging, unearthing another row of coffins. Each row brought her closer and closer to the church. When she was finished, the plan was to steer the giant yellow digger at the church and ram it into the doors.

As a group they’d agreed in the car that getting into the church with Doctor McCoy and pushing the other men out was their best plan.

The church had already been surrounded by undead when she got there. The bulldozer only attracted their attention and now at least one of the men inside was shooting at them from above.

On the ground in front of the church Captain Kirk and Specialist McGivers were waiting for an opportunity to break into the building. Already the bulldozer drew attention away from them. Zombies rushed the back of the church and clearly the men inside were paying attention to her as well.

Uhura turned the giant wheel, bringing the bulldozer to the row of graves closest to the church. She let the massive shovel crash into the ground and carve out a deep gash. The door on the first level opened and a man took position in the doorway.

She dumped a mountain of dirt on him before he could get off a shot.

“FORGET THE LAST ONES! LET’S GET INSIDE!”

She turned the wheel abruptly and forced the pedal to the floor. The engine revved and the metal cage they sat in lunged forward.

The bulldozer rammed into the church. She watched the shooter in the doorway dive out of the way just in time.

Yanking the long brake level, the bulldozer jerked to a halt. She pulled up the crane, lifting the shovel---now filled with splintered wood and bricks---and lowering it behind the bulldozer.

It rained debris behind them. It didn’t quite seal the hole they’d made, but it did create a barrier someone would have to climb over.

She was yanked by her sleeve out of the huge metal vehicle. Turning to fight she saw it was Jamarco, who helped her to get stable on her feet.

“Everything’s fine! They aren’t going to hurt you.” The Captain was already in the church as well, and talking to someone.

Lt. Uhura took in the scene before her.

The teen they weren’t supposed to kill was up front in the pulpit. He was holding a knife to Doctor McCoy’s throat.

Captain Kirk and Specialist McGivers were at the other end of the Sanctuary, clearly in the middle of some negotiations.

The teen was scared but the Doctor was happy. Happier than she’d seen him in a long time.

_What a wild ride this must have been for him_ she thought, barely able to contain her joy at seeing him alive.

“I didn’t want any of this! You remember, I told them to just let you go at the bar!”

“We do remember. Just let us have him. You can even stay in the Church, away from the zombies. We’ll go.”

She nodded. Kirk was on the right track.

“Holy fucking shit what the fuck!”

Her head turned as someone outside started cursing.

“I’ve got you man! Take cover!”

That came from above and Uhura cursed, having forgotten about the sniper upstairs.

She looked over at the Captain, who clearly hadn’t realized there was anyone else here.

“Just let us have him and we’ll go,” Kirk begged the teen.

“HOLD HIM, JUNIOR! THAT’S AN ORDER!” the man upstairs shouted down from the rafters. She recognized Mack's voice from the bar in town.

She felt herself being pulled backwards. Jamarco drug her towards the Captain as McGivers raised a weapon and aimed for the half-buried hole in the church.

“Whoa there,” Jamarco cautioned her, “I think that’s our calvary.”

Brown hands climbed as zombie after zombie tore into the church. Outside she heard screaming as the men clearly fell to more undead.

Something was different about these. For one thing, they were clearly in various stages of decay. One was a recent burial while others were decomposed skeletons with soaked strips for clothing.

Then Spock climbed through the rubble, the Nomad behind him. Her eyes were black and what looked like a dark ink tattoo covered the exposed skin on her face, neck, and hands.

The Nomad looked around the room, the dark pools where her eyes should have been taking in everything around her.

“Fuck that! Here ya’ll go!” The teen pushed Doctor McCoy towards Kirk and ran for the stairs.

“Spare the boy. Kill the man.” Nekae spoke, her voice deeper and almost otherworldly. The zombies responded to her, climbing the stairs after the sniper.

“Captain, I think that’s our portal!”

McGivers pointed to the rubble pile, which was now a doorway back through the Guardian. She could see Scotty, Cyani, and two other Security officers on the other side, though it seemed like they couldn’t see her.

“Go!” she heard the Captain yell. She sprinted and then jumped at the doorway.

* * *

 

Spock saw the doorway before Nekae.

“Take her! I’ll make sure the boy gets out!” Jamarco yelled, running for the stairs.

The Nomad turned, her eyes black and her body covered in lines and shapes.

“This door is not meant for me. Go.”

Her voice had that far away quality it did when she used her Bridge abilities.

“You cannot stay here. I do not wish to hurt you, but you must come with us.”

Before she could respond he rushed her, pulling her off her feet and through the portal.

He dove through fog. On the other side were the rest of the away team.

The Captain, Lt. Uhura and Specialist McGivers were all in their uniforms again. Looking down, he confirmed that he was back in his uniform.

“What happened, Sir?” Scotty asked. “You only left a moment ago.”

In his arms he felt the Nomad slump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the City of Forever redux.
> 
> One more chapter to go in this posting spree. Happy binge reading!
> 
> (If you're happy and you know it, leave a comment!)


	26. Chapter 26

On the screen, nurses scrambled as Dr. Chapel barked orders at them.

“Raise the temps to 215 Fahrenheit and put the bed warmer on! Lower the lights to 10 lumens and cue up the console lights or we’ll all be stumbling around in the dark. Readings!”

Somewhere in the dim a nurse responded.

“BP is 500 over 110 with both numbers falling. Oxygenation levels low and dropping. Breathing labored.”

In Dr. McCoy’s office, the away team circled the screen.

“Those numbers aren’t good, Jim,” Dr. McCoy commented, turning to pick up a padd. As he continued to speak his focus stayed on the device. “I’m looking for what would cause that, though we haven’t exactly done extensive studies on how time travel affects Vulcanoids---“

“---I’ve seen it before.”

The group turned on Nurse M’Benga.

“On Terra Nova, where many Vulcan ships evacuated. This is what it looks like when a Vulcan has lost multiple family members.”

McCoy had originally hired M’Benga. He knew his work history had included volunteering as emergency medical personnel after the destruction of Vulcan. His extensive knowledge of Vulcan physiology and Healer care was the main reason McCoy’d recruited him in the first place.

“He is correct.” Spock added, “Typically Vulcans have telepathic bonds with their mates, parents, children, and sometimes even extended family. To lose all these bonds at once…”

The Doctor turned on M’Benga.

“What was the treatment? What do Vulcans do about this?”

“That’s just it, Sir. The only thing anyone can do is replace what was removed. The Vulcans were rounding up volunteers to bond with the injured.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement on the screen. Turning, he propelled forward and hit the call button.

“T’Lok to the CMO’s office.”

He watched as the Vulcan Healer, attracted by the commotion, turned away from Chapel and her team. She moved off screen in the direction of his office.

“If you are planning to utilize the Healer T’Lok in this matter, Doctor, I must strongly object.”

“Thank you for your opinion, but unless you’re going to start having me call you Doctor Spock…”

“He means that he objects because she would.” Uhura stepped up from where she had been half-sitting on a table with McGivers. “The Nomads and the Oasians have a strong cultural stigma around Vulcan telepaths---religious, military, and medical. They all started out the same, historically.”

Spock stepped back, linked his hands behind his back, and started to pace the room.

“In the events which forced the ancestors of the Nomads and Oasians off Vulcan, the Acolytes played a central role.” Spock was in full lecture-mode now, which had McCoy concerned.

 _He’s moving to work off nervous energy…_ he thought to himself.

“They served as military, turning towns violent and pitting Vulcans against one another to drive them off the planet. Nomads like Nekae, who are essentially telepathically disabled with thick, natural shielding, _are as they are_ because of the work of village Healers. These Healers permanently changed the brains of their patients to stop the madness.”

“Good ole country doctors save the day, even on Vulcan,” he replied, smiling at the image despite the current circumstances.

The Nomad in his Sickbay was still dying.

T’Lok entered the office and found a place. She seemed content to listen for the moment.

“Wait, so it sounds like telepaths both caused the problems and solved them,” Kirk said, building up to a question, “so why do they hate them so much?”

“Not hate, exactly,” Lt. Uhura explained, “though there is some. It is an instinctual fear, caused by generations of stigma stemming from a historical event. Kind of like how many humans still have strong feelings about genetic manipulation before birth because of the Eugenics Wars.”

The Captain was nodding. McCoy turned to check on Spock and found the Vulcan observing the Healer with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

He needed to move this party along.

“All this is well and good, but I’ve still got a Nomad dying in my Sickbay.” The Doctor turned to the Healer.

“They are saying she’s lost several bonds at once. Can you do something about that?”

He thought it was a really bad sign when she swallowed before answering.

“Yes. I can adopt her.”

Of course they would see it that way… McCoy thought. M’Benga had said the bonds had to be replaced by something similar.

“Unacceptable.”

Spock looked as hostile as he sounded. Behind him, even Uhura looked a little worried.

“On top of the instinctual hostility,” the Lieutenant added, stepping in the middle of the tension between the two Vulcans, “the Nomad doesn’t even know T’Lok. She would be encountering her for the first time as a stranger.”

The Communications Chief crossed the room to stand next to the Vulcan Healer. Unlike Spock, the Lieutenant had taken to the Healer after their treatments and was still seeing her.

“I agree.”

One and two words were all they seemed to be able to get from the Commander now.

“None of this is a solution!” McCoy bellowed. “Give me something I can do for this patient or all of you CLEAR OUT and let me think!”

“Calm down Bones, that’s an order.”

Their Captain was all business now and the doctor had to get a hold of himself before he gave his superior officer an ass chewing in front of the entire away team.

“There is a solution, though Nekae might not be amenable.”

Spock spoke again, this time calmer.

 _That’s that artificial calm he gets before offering to do something extremely dangerous and self-sacrificing…_ McCoy thought.

“Unacceptable.”

This time the Healer objected. Of course nothing could just be simple.

“Doctor,” Kirk said urgently, “will this fill your prescription?”

McCoy wished with everything he had for another option. Behind him Dr. Chapel’s team of nurses was narrating his patient’s rapidly-approaching death.

Turning, the doctor walked up to the screen to look at her. He couldn’t explain why---it wasn’t like she was just going to sit up and tell him what to do.

On the bed she was seizing, green blood trailing from her eyes and ears, dripping from her nail beds, and filling her mouth.

“Yes.”

He heard the door open and close behind him. McCoy hit the call button.

“Dr. Chapel step back. Let him through and clear the room. Doctor, you stay.”

The nurses and medical technicians left and seconds later Spock entered. He went over the head of the bed and McCoy couldn’t help remembering Doctor Van Gelder.

“Clear the room. We don’t all need to watch this,” he growled from over his shoulder.

* * *

 

 _This is exactly the type of behavior she would criticize me for…_ Spock thought as he strode across the Medical Section to the exam room where the Nomad was held.

While everything he told the others was true, it was also the case that he had left out key pieces of information. Data that had the potential to change the Doctor’s final decision.

For example, he had not told them that the Nomad was upset with him. He had not told them that the Nomad had hinted at a future harm (future for him, past for her). That she had information she specifically refused to tell him. Information that could potentially be obtained through telepathic contact.

The doors swished open around him and he entered the exam room. Forcing those thoughts down for later meditation he moved to the head of the bed.

Nekae was shaking and bleeding from a number of orifices.

Lowering himself, he held her head and shoulders still. While he knew he could not make telepathic contact through just touch, he hypothesized that her telepathic pressure points would be more sensitive. Starting at the top, he pressed his thumbs against her temples.

He felt nothing. No indication of the person inside.

_There is no frustration._

He traced his fingers down the sides of her face, hitting each additional point in turn.

New hypothesis: Areas of sensitivity would be located where her nerves were clustered.

He wrapped one arm underneath and around her, holding her still while the other tested her fingertips.

_There is no frustration._

Tipping her body forward, he held her to his chest with her back exposed. With one motion he shredded her shirt down the middle of her back.

He remembered dancing with her on Ardana. His fingers brushed the base of her spine through her dress. A minor moment, as no telepathic conduction occurred.

This time he started further up, past the back strap on a human female garment that he left intact. His fingers probed up her spine.

He could feel the wound as he got to her shoulders. It radiated telepathic pain.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pressed his fingers against the base of her skull.

He heard himself cry out but was already detached. A point of connection found, he burrowed into the now raw, empty, open pathway where her Beacon and family bonds must have been.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Van Gelder’s voice.

_Our minds so empty like a sponge, needing thoughts, begging. Empty. So lonely to be sitting there empty…_

He found himself standing in a maze. Around him the walls were a thin, sandy rock. He put his hand up to one of the sandstone surfaces.

It was the hand of a child.

Looking down, a quick examination of his body revealed that he had taken the form of his eleven year old self.

He had entered her mind. It was not uncommon for dying minds to revert to childhood.

He started moving down the halls, following the stone walls. There were alcoves lit by the flicker of candle flame.

Looking in one, he saw what looked like an adult in robes bent forward in meditation.

Hurrying past, he heard crying at the end of the hall. He started to run, slowing as he got to the alcove where the weeping seemed to emanate.

A Vulcan child with a squared top of curly hair and thick glasses sat curled into the back of the closet-sized alcove. She sniffed and looked up.

“I told you it wouldn’t work out. You think you’re so smart, so powerful, but even Surak’s own can’t fix everything. Did you come to pry my secrets from me before I died?”

Spock was used to anger from other Vulcan children, but Nekae was highly expressive, moreso than even his bullies had been.

Approaching her slowly, he lowered down to his knees.

“I came here to rescue you. We should go.”

The Vulcan-looking child’s mouth dropped open in an almost humorous expression of shock.

“Are you…?”

“We need to go. There is some logic in haste.”

“Is this permanent?”

He was startled, his mind already conforming to this child version of her enough that an adult, mature question threw him off.

“Unknown. We do not have time to discuss this now.”

“That’s what they all say.”

At her feet there was a padd on the floor then, the screen cycling through faces. An older Vulcan male with spiked blue hair in a line down the middle of his head, a Vulcan woman of the same age with long black cascading curls and eyes covered in a white gloss, a male who was his age peer with straight black hair and a severe expression…

She turned it over just as a woman with brown hair, pink skin, and round ears lit the screen.

“I thought you said you weren’t here for that.”

“I am not. We must move before…”

As he spoke the ground shook as if they were on a ship taking heavy fire.

“Fine.”

She stood and took his hand. They turned out of the alcove and dead-ended into a wall at the end of the corridor. She touched a place next to it that then lit up like a panel and the door opened.

Another hall stretched before them. This time they were on a ship and the hall opened to rooms on both sides.

Each open door was a nightmare. There was screaming, crying, flashes of light…

He knew what she knew---that these were the entrances to her bonds. Each one was replaying a moment where the person attached had almost died.

 _Her mind, trying to rationalize the loss of these bonds, went back to a memory where that loss would be logical…_ he thought in his own voice.

“I can’t. I can’t…”

He turned and she was younger, no more than eight years old. She shook her head, now a giant, teased out mass of curls. Her face was streaked with tears.

He came here to lead her out. Now the path stretched out before him.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice still that of a child’s. Turning, he started down the hall, closing doors [ _sealing broken bonds_ , his mind supplied from somewhere far away] and making a path to lead her out of her mind [ _anchoring a new bond for her to climb out on_ ].

“Not that one!” she screamed. He stopped at the end of the hall, where one last door is open. Beyond it was Vulcan and what looked like a tent pitched in the desert.

Leaving it open, he turned and headed back toward her.

They both knew the hardest part was still ahead of them.

* * *

 

“I am going into this exam room and further, if you try and stop me so help me I hope the Goddess crafts a twist of fate that rips you from this place and…”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose at the string of Orion expletives.

“Okay okay, we’re just going to go now, pardon us…”

Nyota’s voice was calming. The doors opened and Gaila and Nyota entered the room.

“They wouldn’t tell us anything!” Gaila huffed. She strode up to him with an exuberance that made him lean back.

“Gaila…” Nyota warned just as the Orion leaned forward for a long sniff.

Then the room was filled with singing.

As Gaila twirled and crooned operatically, Nyota approached his bedside.

“Sorry. She wanted to see you.”

He knew he needed to act quickly, before Nyota assumed that he had taken offense.

“Do not be. You are my friends. Is it not traditional for friends to visit you while you are in convalescence?”

It had been over 96 days since the last time Nyota smiled with her whole face.

“My MAN!”

Gaila slapped him hard on the back and the air left his lungs.

“She’s also convinced that you are happy about this…” Nyota explained.

He was always grateful for the role Nyota played in his interactions with Gaila. She served as translator for long enough that, on most days, he felt up to the challenge of conversing with Gaila on his own.

Today was not most days.

“He’s fine. He needed a mate and he likes her. And now he _has **locked her DOWN!**_ ”

He caught Nyota’s eyes and raised both eyebrows.

Her eyes widened and her neck bent forward in a sign of agreement.

“Gaila, it is uncertain if this will be permanent…” he started.

“Oh no, it will be. Don’t you worry. We---“ she motioned to both herself and Nyota, “---have plenty of experiencing wooing females. And we are committed to helping you, **_aren’t we?_** ”

Her last words were directed at Nyota, whose reply was slow.

“We are committed to doing things that will really help him, based on what he asks us for…”

Gaila was displeased by this answer. She moved to the other side of his Sickbay bed and sat, putting her hand on the sleeve of his arm.

“ _Taluhk_ ,” she began, calling him _precious_ in perfect Vuhlkansu, “do you **_want_** to break the bond you’ve just formed?”

Spock knew how careful he had to be with Gaila. Were he not specific, she would interpret his words in a way that furthered her own agenda.

“Not at present…” he began.

The door to his exam room swished open and Nurse M’Benga entered.

“Mr. Spock, if you are feeling up to it, could you assist us with our Nomad patient? She does not quite appreciate our accommodations.”

Spock always respected M’Benga’s reserved demeanor. He rose from the bed to assist.

“Wait!” Gaila stopped him with a squeeze of his arm. “You have a bond. Use it. Figure out what is wrong with her before you go in there.”

“That would be impolite.”

His friend was not pleased with that answer either.

“She’s right,” Nyota added, “and Nekae is a Nomad, not a Vulcan.”

He looked back and forth between them and then nodded.

Closing his eyes, he opened the bond.

And then closed it as quickly as he could without hurting her.

“How does she feel?” Gaila asked.

“Betrayed.”

He could feel his teeth grind together at the words. He took a moment to reinstitute his controls.

Her anger and hurt had been overwhelming. Behind the emotions, her body was signaling a loud Red Alert to him in regards to its condition. She was still exhausted, on the edge of dehydration, starving, and suffering from long-term acute vitamin deficiencies.

“Don’t assume you know _why_ she feels how she feels.”

He was surprised that Nyota was the first to give him advice. He was reminded of a moment not long ago when he swore to never again set aside her advice easily. He nodded at her to continue.

“You felt her distress. Just help. And then go _ask_ what she wants.”

At his other side, Gaila was just nodding. He looked up at Nurse M’Benga.

“After you,” he said. He followed the nurse two rooms down.

The first thing he noticed was that her bed was empty. Then he saw T’Lok.

The Vulcan Healer must have entered and offered her services. The Nomad rejected them, as he predicted she would.

As he moved into the room he saw Nekae in the corner, her position both defensive and strategically superior.

He stepped between Nekae and T’Lok.

“We have already discussed this. You will not be treating her.”

In truth, he was confused by her actions. Most Healers would not be so persistent without being requested.

She just stared back at him in silence. Surely she had already informed his father of his decision to help Nekae and its implications. He stared back until she broke eye contact and left the room.

Standing as he was, with his back still towards her, he closed his eyes and opened the bond again. This time he braced himself for the waves, just as intense now as they had been before. Then he imagined they were his own emotions and soothed them.

Behind him he heard her gasp. Then she took a long, deep breath.

He soothed and reigned in the emotions until the bond felt calm, the waves lowered to something more placid. Then he slowly untwined their minds and pulled back across the bond.

She moved past him and settled back on the biobed. When he turned to look at her he was reminded of her physical needs.

She needed vitamin supplements, food, water, and rest.

“Thanks for helping me get rid of her.”

“You are welcome.”

They were bonded and he still could not keep a conversation going with her. Even without trying he could still feel her across the link.

She was still angry, but also uncertain. Unhappy. Stressed.

“You do not shield,” he commented. Her eyes shot over to his.

“That’s a Beacon’s job. I’m a Bridge.”

He felt a moment of inspiration.

“Perhaps, at least for right now, you might consider me your Beacon.”

He felt her consider this, and then… relax.

“That’ll work for now. But no Beacon would let their Bridge wake up alone in an unsafe environment.”

This was an unsafe environment, he thought, but not for her. Spock was more concerned for the safety of the Medical section. What if a Sickbay staff person woke her up abruptly, or the instruments they wielded caused her concern? Even weak, she still had a Vulcan’s strength.

“I assure you the Enterprise is very safe. The Vulcan Healer would not have forced her services had you not requested them.”

Her arms crossed over her chest. Even in the warmer room she was cold.

“You promised me the protection of the House of Surak. This is anything but.”

The way she spoke was jarring to his senses. Her linguistical patterns, go-to vocabulary, and even timing had changed over the time apart.

Now the way she spoke reminded him of his mother.

“This is my ship.”

“This is the ship where you work. There’s a difference.”

“By that definition, no place I have access to will suit your needs.”

“Surely there’s somewhere on this ship that’s **_yours_**. Somewhere smaller and warmer than this, where people don’t just walk in whenever they want…”

She started to babble and he moved to her bedside. Testing the link, he then used it to assess her physical state. What was the most pressing?

… deficiencies… and sleep…

“I think I can make some arrangements that would be suitable. To do so, I must put you in the care of the Medical staff.”

“Bones.”

It would not be possible or prudent to guarantee her exclusive access to one individual.

“No. Dr. McCoy requires the use of his team, and he will not always be available when you require assistance.”

The doors slid open and Dr. Chapel entered the room.

“She’ll do.”

He could sense that she was too tired to continue a prolonged argument.

“Very well.” He turned to the doctor. “Dr. Chapel, she has a number of vitamin deficiencies…”

He trailed off when she fanned out five hyposprays.

“This will only take a few minutes,” she assured Nekae, moving to the other side of the biobed. “You’ll feel dizzy afterwards for 20 or 30 minutes, but since you’re tired it might be a good opportunity to fall asleep.”

The mention of sleep caused Nekae some alarm.

“Doctor, after her hypos I’ll be taking her to my quarters. Send me a schedule and I’ll bring her back to Sickbay for additional care as frequently as necessary.”

She seemed about to protest, but then she looked around the room.

“That’ll work. She should eat something before bed, but she will be dizzy so something in a cup that she can sip on will work better than something that requires complicated hand movements.”

“Understood.”

“And when I say dizzy, know that I mean it might be hard for her to walk. I can bring around a wheel—“

He held up his hand, too polite to interrupt her verbally.

“That will not be necessary. Thank you, Doctor.”

Doctor Chapel continued to administer the hypos, her movements uninterrupted by their conversation. She seemed to be doing a visual assessment of Nekae as well.

“There. That does it.”

Dr. Chapel rose, nodded to them both, and left. Spock was pleased that, if Nekae was only willing to see two medical professionals, that she was the other. 

Spock felt her relief again. He made the conscious decision not to raise a shield between them just yet.

One benefit of the bond was that he finally had some idea what his Nomad was thinking.

* * *

 

An urgency grabbed Spock by the collar and yanked, pulling him out of four levels of meditation.

He opened his eyes. He was in his quarters, in his meditation chamber, sitting on the floor in front of his firepot.

The comm on his desk was ringing.

Nekae was breathing loudly behind him on the bed.

“Is it an alarm?”

His annoyance quickly turned to concern. The urgency that had pulled on him was hers.

She was in a new environment after years of living in survival mode.

He turned and rose, moving to the bed and looking her in the eyes.

“No. It is a comm. I will return.”

He pushed calm and safety across the bond.

_We are safe. All is well._

“You can return to resting.”

He could tell that she had no intention of doing so, despite her eyelids drooping every few moments.

Moving to the outer room, he opened his comm.

“Spock here.”

“I am sorry for disturbing you, Commander.” It was Palmers. “Ambassador Selek is on the line for you.”

Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Indeed, a conversation with his elder peer could help resolve some of the concerns he had in his meditation cue for this rest period.

“Please put him though.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Spock sat at his desk and cued up the signal to come there instead. The monitor lit up as the visual signal formed.

“Ambassador Spock.”

“Commander Spock”

“I am told congratulations are in order.”

He raised an eyebrow. Certainly his elder peer knew that gloating would not be an enjoyable activity for both of them.

“How goes your work on Ketarai Menal? Have you made any enlightening observations?”

At that his more senior self nodded.

“Yes. Near the end of my life I traveled to Romulus extensively. I was on a mission to make contact with Romulans interested in reunification with Vulcan.”

Ambassador Spock had been increasing his instances of personal sharing over the last four calls, but even so, this admission surprised Spock. This activity, if conducted now, would amount to treason both in the Federation-at-large and with Vulcan.

Then a thought occurred to him.

“Is that why Romulans trusted Vulcans and you with a mission into their territory as their sun went supernova?”

That part of the story never made sense to Spock, though he had not questioned its authenticity. It had come to Jim through a meld and it took more telepathic skill than Spock had to fake anything within a mind.

A shadow seemed to cloud his elder’s face.

“I had been working for Reunification for years at that point. I was briefly forced off Romulus and returned home. Then there began to be talk of the supernova on Vulcan. It was a predictable, calculable phenomenon, and it was then that I realized there were details out of place. None of the settlements I frequented on Romulus had people talking about it. But now that I was home, I learned that much of the planet had already been evacuated.”

“The Romulans used the explosion to destroy the movement.”

“Yes.”

“And Nero blamed you for being central to a political movement his wife was killed for practicing.”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for several moments. Spock often wondered how the loss of Vulcan had impacted his elder, with the role he played in that chain of events.

Were he in his place now he imagined he would experience guilt that was difficult to bear.

“This chain of events is one you were part of, not responsible for. You are not responsible.”

This response seemed to stun his elder peer. He sat in silence while the other Vulcan recovered and then let the lapse go unmentioned.

“While I was on Romulus, I learned their version of the events during the Reforms. They were aggressively exiled from our planet, but a larger number of them went towards Romulus. Their first colonies were on Calder II, Dessica II, Draken IV, Yadalla Prime, and Barradas III.”

“Are you trying to prove that those who stopped near the Time Planet in this universe kept on towards those planets in yours? I do not believe I know anyone with enough knowledge about Romulus to check those facts.”

Spock was getting uncomfortable with the direction and tone of this conversation. Starfleet recorded all ship-to-ship transmissions from fleet vessels and they were sensitive about any talk of Romulans.

“Unnecessary. For months I have been tracking the crests of several families I know were descendants of colonizers of Barradas III in my reality. Here they are Oasians.”

That was significant. That said, it was also a good time to point their conversation in a different direction.

“We have met the Guardian of Forever. The Captain seemed to think it should have played out differently. What happened when you encountered it?”

Over their communications exchange, Spock had noted that his elder peer relaxed and then completely disregarded his rule about not sharing. If the event had past, he was often willing to share his reality’s version.

“When the Enterprise encountered the Guardian, Doctor McCoy accidentally administered a fatal dose of cordrazine to himself. The resulting madness…”

“…compelled him to enter the Guardian as it was focused on the history of Earth.”

“Fascinating.”

“Fascinating.”

Speaking with himself, even with the obvious differences, was still quite compelling.

“We went back to the 1940s. Captain Kirk was forced to stop Doctor McCoy from saving a woman’s life---knowing that, if he saved her, the future of Earth and the Federation would be forever altered.”

“Our mission diverged significantly.”

Spock had not yet received Starfleet’s security classification for this mission and for that reason he could not share the details with his counterpart.

“I think I am close to a working theory that explains the past divergences,” Ambassador Spock declared, moving past his vague comment.

“Please elaborate.”

“I hypothesize that the Guardian of Forever is just that, a guardian of this forever---or this reality. In my time when the Doctor caused a fundamental change, the Guardian sent us back to repair the damage. In this time, when more significant damage has occurred, the Guardian recruited more individuals to repair the breaches.”

Spock remembered Nekae’s questioning of the landing party at the prison.

_You met the Guardian? Did… the Guardian send you here?_

_Are you saying that the Guardian sent you here to repair a breach in time?_

“The Nomads seem familiar with the Guardian and its desire to close breaches.”

“Indeed they do,” his peer agreed.

He felt fatigue weighing him down. Nekae was tired but would not go to sleep while he was still on the comm.

“Spock, I should retire. I now have… new duties to attend to…”

This got a raised eyebrow from the Ambassador.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the mass chapter post! We're almost at the end of this monster fic as well. 
> 
> If you like it (or hate it, I'm not picky) comment and let me know!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

 

_God I hope this was the right decision. He’s practically a ticking time bomb himself but… If it wasn’t… I don’t think he can break another bond and live. And what about her? This was the very definition of non-consensual. Jesus, what have we done?_

“Too much thinking. Not enough drinking,” McCoy murmured as he filled two glasses.

“Here here, Bones. Like, stop fussing with that and give it here.”

The two men hadn’t even made it to the Observation Deck. Leonard looked up at his friend Jim, both just off-shift and so ready to be _done with this day_ that the Saurian brandy he hid in his office had come out.

“Here,” Leonard said as he passed Jim a glass. “I just hope we did the right thing.”

“That sounds like a toast,” Jim said, shooting the drink fast enough that the words were barely a whisper on his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders lowering.

_The medicinal effects of Saurian brandy are both observable and nearly immediate…_ Leonard thought, imagining the medical log he would never dictate.

“Besides, he wanted to. All we did was step out of his way.”

Leonard snorted in reply, taking his own drink in smaller sips.

“Easy for you to say…”

All the off-duty doctor could think was that Jim didn’t even know the worst of it. He wasn’t there for Spock’s strange tale about a mysterious fever that Vulcans hadn’t licked, even after lifetimes of research. A mysterious fever that came every seven years and, if not treated, was fatal. Worse, a sickness that would leave Spock a madman, a raving lunatic desperately seeking a mate.

_Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute!_

“You know,” the doctor began, “you were real quick to sanction your First Officer bonding with an unconscious woman with what was---at best!---dubious consent.”

Leonard leaned forward on the desk, focusing his razor-sharp gaze at his friend.

“Hold up now, **_you_** were the one who said _yes_ as I recall…”

Jim was fidgety, not making eye contact, almost like he was trying to hide something.

“You know, don’t you?”

Leonard’s words were slow and careful. He wasn’t giving anything away and if Jim didn’t already know, nothing about what he said would tell him.

Even off duty and approaching intoxication, he was professional enough not to disclose a crew member’s confidential medical information.

For several long moments, Jim’s ice blue eyes were locked with Leonard’s own darker browns.

Then Bones just lost it.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, you too? He could have told me that he told you too!”

Leonard was up, legs throwing him across the room and back in long strides.

“He didn’t tell me Bones. I already knew.”

Then Leonard swiveled on Jim, crossing the room and bridging the gap between them in three steps.

“You mean you knew from that meld, don’t you? From the other Spock?”

As his friend nodded, Leonard remembered just how much younger the Captain was. He was barely a boy, to have command of such a large crew.

“Alright, _carpe diem_ ,” the doctor said as he took Jim’s glass, moved back to his desk, and both poured them both another drink.

“What does that mean?” his friend said worriedly, though he dutifully drained his cup a second time.

“We need to have a talk, Jim. About that meld…”

The back arch and eye roll that Jim executed told Leonard exactly what type of response he was going to get. Lucky for him, he had plenty of experience with children.

“How many times are we going to do this? I’m fine. You’ve scanned me to Mars and back and your instruments say I’m fine.”

The doctor just sat and listened, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up until the younger man was finished.

“So I remember things sometimes. So what? Our brains are different, and you know how much Spock can remember, how fast he can calculate, hell, how fast he can just think! It is no wonder that I’m still unravelling everything…”

When he was done, Leonard let some silence sit between them for a moment before he posed a question.

“Is that what you really think?”

He watched his friend yank himself out of the chair.

“No. You know it isn’t. But I just don’t… know…”

“Want a theory?”

Leonard stayed calm, kept his body relaxed in the chair, legs up on the desk. His body language was enough to bring his friend back over and get him back into a seat.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Well, since you asked, here’s what I think: I think, in that other universe where Old Man Spock came from, his Kirk was just like you and the two of them were thick as thieves. Going on adventures. Saving each other from the jaws of death and the like, over and over. And over time, I bet all that arm-grabbing and patting on the shoulder and all those chess games and shared meals might have formed a bond. You know, Spock’s a real strong telepath. It is actually hard for him not to tie people to him when he likes them. That’s a big part of why he---why all the Vulcans we know---are so uptight about keeping their distance.”

Jim was nodding, his eyes unfocused the way they got when he was thinking through a puzzle.

“And now his Jim is gone and here you are. Similar. You arrived right when he needed saving, just like his Jim would. Aren’t you a little curious about the fact that a meld was the first thing he offered? I mean, couldn’t he have just explained it to you?”

“I might not have believed him…” Jim said, but he didn’t sound like he believed himself.

“And now every time you are wrapped up in a situation your other self was in with other Spock, you stop like you think something’s wrong. It has been over two years now. Do you really think you are still remembering things from that meld? Isn’t it possible you might be drawing new information instead?”

“You think I’m bonded to Ambassador Spock?”

Leonard was out of the chair and cueing up his console.

“I know you know that Spock and Uhura had some difficulties. While I was working with them, I read everything I could get my hands on about these Vulcan bonds.”

Federation Medical documents scrolled across the screen.

“There was barely anything on record. These Vulcans are as tight-lipped as Aldeberan shell mouths when it comes to this sort of thing. Eventually, after a lot of digging, I got Sarek to send me these.”

The screen was filled with long lines of Vulcan script.

“Aren’t you going to translate it?”

“Can’t! This file is locked so tight the computer can’t even get _in_ to translate it, Jim. Had to learn Vulcan just to read it. Lucky I was already getting pretty good at it, because this is the vaguest, most convoluted language I’ve ever seen on a medical chart.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there are a whole set of words here that don’t even have an English translation! These people live with touch telepathy and mental bonds and we can’t even begin imagine how that works. What I found out was that, when a full-on bond is formed between two people---doesn’t matter if its kids and parents, spouses, friends, you name it---when a bond like that forms, both individuals suffer trauma to the nervous system, spine, and brain stem.”

“Trauma?”

Leonard was drawn to look over at the sound of Jim’s voice. The younger man seemed confused.

“Call it _change_ , then. All of those parts of the body are _changed_ by the bond. Even after a person dies, remnants of that old bond can still there. Still looking for someone to attach on to…”

Jim was nodding now.

“Now I did scans on you and I didn’t see anything, but the Vulcans don’t use scanners like ours. They use Healers. And T’Lok did get in your noggin’ a bit during Tantalus, but she wouldn’t share anything she learned about your past with me afterwards. They train these folks to be discrete.”

“But she would know?”

McCoy almost jumped. It was eerie to him how Jim could go from relaxed to alert at the snap of a finger.

“Yeah, she would.”

Jim pulled his uniform jacket back on and started to head for the door. Leonard jumped up after him, snatching a hypo from the pack he always had in hands reach.

“Hey! Was that necessary?” the younger man protested as the “anti-hangover” hypo pressed against his exposed neck.

“Maybe not,” Leonard called after him, “but it just seemed prudent!”

* * *

His body temperature dipped, an alarm of sorts. Focusing his mind, Spock rose out of five levels of meditation.

In the background of his mind, a Red Alert still sounded. Instead of working against it, he worked with it.

_Prolonged exposure to nutritional scarcity has left the other with **seven** acute vitamin deficiencies._

**_Five_ ** _will remain after follow up supplements from Sickbay and meals by the end of the day today._

**_Two_ ** _have left damage that will take between **12** and **25** additional Federation Standard days to repair._

_An additional **one** rest period today, along with **one** period of exercise, should help to begin rebuilding her constitution at an acceptable pace._

Connecting the descending numbers, Spock climbed out of meditation and into a state of wakefulness. As he rose, his intention was to move as quietly as possible in order to keep Nekae asleep, but by the time he opened his eyes he had already discarded that notion.

The Nomad lay still. Her breathing had resumed its even, slow pace. To the casual observer, she was still asleep.

In his mind, the bond between them hummed with life.

Spock suspected this was her habit---sleeping in short bursts and waking ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice---and that it had been reinforced over the last several years.

“I am rising to prepare morning meal. You may continue to rest.”

Spock’s voice was quiet as he rose and left his sleeping quarters. He was uncertain about his word choice, but had nothing to serve as an example other than how his father would speak to his mother. And despite a reality of equality between them, Vulcan males had a certain way of speaking to their bondmates.

And their children. As far as Spock knew, adult Vulcan males spoke to all females they shared a bond with in a way that reinforced the protective, provisional, and possessive features of male-female Vulcan interaction.

_Father, husband, uncle, cousin, brother…_ Spock listed off familial roles for males that fit this model.

Nekae did not seem unduly stressed by the language. This was in stark contrast to how Nyota had initially responded to it. Spock wondered if this interaction was something else Vulcans had in common with Nomads and Oasians.

He abruptly stopped walking, his left leg forward holding him still mid-step as his head tilted.

Nyota was thinking of him now.

Even with all that had happened, Spock could still sometimes sense when she was thinking of him. At first he tried to control it, but after several attempts to do so in her presence he concluded that his control seemed to have a deleterious effect on her health.

Now he noticed it, letting the moment pass over him.

Then his comm vibrated on his desk.

Moving over to it, he flipped it open and adjusted the nobs to bring up the text screen.

_Lt. Uhura: She’s on her way to you now. I tried to stop her but I couldn’t and I’m on Alpha shift. I’m sorry._

Spock had no need to ask who _she_ was. He sat at his desk, ready to buzz her in as soon as she rang.

Moments later, his quiet quarters were filled with the polite, pointed small talk of a notoriously pushy Orion.

“I’m here for morning duty! As you can see I’ve brought everything we’ll need. You can take a break if you want.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the offer. Gaila moved through his small quarters like a litka would have, taking in every room and marking it as her own by leaving something of hers there. Her shoes were off at the door, then her scarf was on the table in the kitchenette, and after that he inferred from what he was able to hear that she had deposited her oversized bag in his bathroom.

“Oh there you are! Good morning, Sleepy Head!”

Spock turned to find the source of Gaila’s pronouncements. Nekae stood in the doorway to his sleeping quarters, her hair flattened stubble on one side and sprawling curls on the other.

He felt an emotion rise at the sight of her there, more like the familiarity of their “game nights” than it was the last few days. She met his eyes, her own still narrowed from exhaustion.

Then she looked past him at his Orion friend.

“Gaila, I am so glad you’re here. Do you have that shampoo that has the little white flakes that dissolve and make curls soft?”

His left eyebrow rose. Her tone was friendly, though to his knowledge they had never met. She knew her name, which did not make sense as he had never before spoken to Nekae of Gaila.

Until very recently the subject was both personal and a source of pain.

Gaila retreated to the bathroom and returned with her giant orange bag.

“In fact I do…” she said, her voice indicating her own surprise as she felt around in the bag for several moments before extracting a black pot.

“Yess…. and what about the foot polish? You know, the one that makes them very dry and green cold smelling?”

Spock marveled at how Nekae seemed to speak to Gaila in her own language. His friend was nodding, reaching around in her bag again. This time she found the white and red tube, which she pulled from her bag and displayed with a flourish.

“How did you know?!?” Gaila seemed both surprised and pleased by this chain of events. Nekae strode over to her.

“It does my eyes good to see you, girl. Can you help me figure out this bathroom? It has been years since I’ve been on a Starfleet ship…”

The two headed into the bathroom, leaving Spock standing alone by his desk.

Nodding to himself, he decided to take Gaila’s advice and make himself some tea.

* * *

Spock felt the turbolift stop under his feet. The door opened with a swish. Someone gasped, and seven pairs of eyes locked on Commander Spock.

“Aye, Sir.” Mr. Scott greeted him with a wide grin.

The juxtaposition of events was significant. A crowd of people whose body language and behaviors brought to mind a group of his age peers at the Vulcan Science Learning Center were right alongside a wave of comradery and friendship from Mr. Scott, delivered with a smile pronounced enough that Dr. McCoy might indeed want to log it as a symptom of the “space madness” to which he so often referred.

He checked his internal clock and located a logical reason for this curious tableau: a round of Engineering safety drills.

“Mr. Scott. Carry on.”

The crowd of cadets moved to let him by as he listened to Mr. Scott resume his instruction.

“In the event that Enterprise’s auxillary power is drained and decks are put on standby, all the turbolifts on decks that go dark when energy is diverted to primary systems will open---”

As Spock turned the corner, he heard what was undoubtedly Mr. Scott engaging the turbolift floor, lifting it up to reveal the ladders.

“---folding into these oversized Jeffries tubes with ladders. The lifts connect tha whole ship. Allya gotta do is climb!”

His comm buzzed, and Spock opened it to see a message:

_Lt. Uhura: First Officer Number One is on hold for you. Private and encoded._

The Briefing Room was empty, and just as Spock got passed the door he heard the telltale click of the lock engaging. The room darkened, and the screen lit up.

“Number One,” he greeted her. The screen cleared up and her face was visible.

“Spock. How are you? I heard a rumor that you got married…?”

The Commander said nothing. He had served with Number One for a five year mission. Silence was enough to deter her odd form of mischievousness 74.12% of the time.

“We don’t have to talk about it, but just so you know, there’s nothing to be ashamed about. In deep space, things happen.”

Number One, now the First Officer on the USS Constellation, did not smile. That said, her eyes changed in a way that was not quite quantifiable, but which Spock’s mind linked to other occasions when the context clues available revealed her to be employing humor. Spock lifted an eyebrow, reasoning that the communication via subspace, as compared with communication in person, would be limited. She would not have the full range of body language, verbal, or visual cues available to help her understand him. In this instance, some amount of additional expressiveness was logical.

“How did you find my speech?” he asked.

She nodded and he could detect the signs that there was movement offscreen, most likely her hand picking up a padd.

“I’m glad you appreciate the stakes here. This was good. More than good, for you. I’m assuming someone helped. Uhura?”

He nodded his head.

“And others, though the Lieutenant’s assistance was singularly significant. Will it be enough?”

At the question, Number One shifted in her chair.

“For the Opening Ceremonies. I’m assuming you have more planned for the weeks of the conference. The cat’s out of the bag about the Academy proposal.”

Spock was not disappointed, both because that would be an emotional reaction and because the speed of social communication among Starfleet and Federation Diplomatic Service staff was a constant he knew well.

“The planning team for the Academy project is set to speak on it at every available opportunity. Additionally, Lt. Uhura and Dr. Marcus approached me about housing the rescue effort at the new Academy. This would consolidate the effort, garner Command support for it, and holds additional benefits for Vulcan residents seeking to get involved in the Academy.”

Spock stopped talking as Number One nodded. While often accused of being pedantic, he genuinely made an effort not to go on past the point where mutual understanding had been achieved.

“Smart. Command not ordering a comprehensive rescue effort on their own was a mistake---one that Tompkins and Co. love reminding everyone about---and the people working on that project are respected across the board, no matter what ship they’re from… your staff working on that project have a better chance of connecting with the crew from other ships than anyone else. People are talking about the rescue teams like they’re heroes.”

“Their work is in keeping with the highest values of Starfleet and the Federation.”

Spock repeated what he had told Uhura and Dr. Marcus. It was still true. This made Number One smile, though the expression was just as restrained as everything else about her.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

Spock remained silent. While he could not point out the concrete indicators, Spock could tell that Number One was building up to something. His own mother had taught him the power of silence.

“Talking to the staff from other ships is going to be key here, Spock. The Captains and First Officers from Tompkins and Co know it---”

He did not cringe at the second use of that name. While he did not appreciate it, he had no other appropriate way to refer to the block of ships and space stations under Admiral Westerveliet that were clearly organizing themselves.

“---and you and your Captain have given them plenty to talk about.”

At this her facial features were clearly disapproving. He raised another eyebrow.

“I fail to see---”

“---You told everyone you weren’t coming for their crew. You and Kirk both. And then he made his statement---and don’t get me wrong, it **_needed_** to be said---but the result was that you pulled transfers from everyone. More from Tompkins and Co, certainly, but from us too. Decker’s pissed. Everyone is.”

Spock straightened. He could have anticipated where this conversation would go. He had already fielded comms from other First Officers sharing similar displeasure.

“As you say, it needed to be said. And the first-hand knowledge we have now gained about the conditions on some starship postings is significant.”

“Oh, I bet its damning! We have a small number of transfers here on the Constellation and they are a mess. Shoddy medical, non-existent training, and the stories they are telling…”

Number One just shook her head. After a short interval, Spock continued.

“This knowledge will be enough to build a case for disciplinary action and reforms. The Captains and First Officers know this. Their requests to recoup lost crew have been particularly… strident.”

In truth, Spock had been taken aback by the language and behavior of the First Officers from the Tompkins, the Beirut, the Exeter, the Defiant, and the Lexington in regards to their lost crew members. He was forced to remind himself that humans often made threats they had no intention of actually enacting.

“I bet. And that’s what they were willing to say over comm. The conference is a unique opportunity for them. They can reach out to their counterparts on other ships and have unmonitored conversations. And a few months ago, half their peers wouldn’t give them the time of day. Now they’ve got you all to complain about… to bond over.”

Looking at the situation strategically, Spock was forced to admit that the Enterprise’s gain was also their cause’s loss.

“Indeed. It was not… intended.”

“I know. I can’t even imagine how it must be, working every day with a Captain who’s so young and emotional.”

Spock said nothing, refusing to verbalize any difficulties.

“The upside is, Kirk understands emotion. And all of this is about that: social dynamics and personal feelings. We’re fighting for the heart of Starfleet and the soul of the Federation here. Those are necessarily emotional battles. And neither of us are extraordinarily savvy in that department.”

“Indeed.”

Spock had no trouble agreeing with her statement.

“Just be careful. Tompkins will be in parking orbit right next to Enterprise for three weeks. And while your influx of new crew is definitely a positive, only a fool wouldn’t assume that Tompkins and Co didn’t throw in a few spies and saboteurs.”

As he ended the call, Spock made a mental note to check in with Specialist Cyani, now Enterprise’s ranking Security officer assigned to preventing and investigating sabotage.


End file.
